


The Great Grim

by GuestPlease



Series: Albus Severus Potter- Consulting Detective [3]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, Sherlock (TV)
Genre: GUYS I WROTE SOME FLUFF, James and Orpheus are back but I'm not sure if I should tag them, M/M, Sirius probably isn't going to show up, same with the Scamanders
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-09
Updated: 2017-09-18
Packaged: 2018-12-25 18:48:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 20,123
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12042024
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GuestPlease/pseuds/GuestPlease
Summary: Scorpius and Albus are pitted against their greatest threat yet. Will they, and their budding relationship survive? Just who is Rose's mysterious girlfriend? Will the author abandon this series again like a coward?All of these questions and probably more will be answered in the latest installment!





	1. "What'd I Miss?"

Albus scrolled through his phone idly as he sat on the plane. Belarus, which had come out of nowhere, had delayed him from meeting Rose’s girlfriend for another week and, more importantly, had separated him from Scorpius. Something about how his job needed him— _see,_ Albus _knew_ it was trouble.

Nonetheless, Scorpius had texted him every day without fail, usually several times a day. The messages were small, often innocuous, like, ‘Diggory has a case for you when you get back :)’ and ‘Mrs. Figg made chocolate cake! I will try to save you some, but no promises’. But always, _always_ , Scorpius ended it with something like ‘xoxo’ or ‘I love you’. Their relationship was still new, but Albus treasured these small acts of intimacy more than _anything_ , except possibly Scorpius.

“Sir, please turn off your phone.” A flight attendant smiled toothily at him.  
Albus glared at her. “It’s on airplane mode.”  
“Be that as it may, sir, we’re landing soon and given that there are poor flight conditions, the pilot doesn’t want to risk it.”

Albus grumbled, but did as she said. He forgot to turn his phone back on when they touched down, eager to get off of the airplane. He sped through the baggage claim and customs, hailing a taxi as quickly as possible. He made noncommittal dialogue for the entirety of the trip, eager to just be _home_ already. London traffic eventually gave way to Baker Street.

The taxi screeched to a stop at a police line, and Albus threw money at the driver before leaving the cab and hurriedly collecting his suitcase. He dipped under the line, staring up at the damage. 221B’s windows, as well as some of the brick work, were completely gone. Albus’ mouth suddenly felt very, very dry. Not the good kind that Scorpius caused either.

“Oi! This is a crime scene, you can’t just wander in here!” Someone yelled behind him.  
Albus whipped around to come face to face with a Scamander twin. He was so distracted he didn’t even bother with which one it was either.  
“Oh, God, it’s you. You’re not meant to be back here yet!” Scamander huffed.  
Albus gripped his shoulders. “Where. Is. Scorpius.” It wasn’t even really a question.

The offending Scamander did not immediately point in Scorpius’ direction and apologize for wasting Albus’ valuable time. Instead he cocked an eyebrow, and said, “Did you teleport here the minute you found out about Baker Street? That’s actually sweet, for you.”  
“I don’t have time for _jokes_.” Albus growled. “If Scorpius is hurt and you’ve wasted my time—”  
“Potter.” Scamander gently removed Albus’ hands from his shoulders. “If he was really hurt, do you think I’d be wasting your time? No. _But_ while we have time, why are you home early, did something happen?”

“Baker’s Street blew up.” Albus sneered. “I thought even _your_ powers of deduction could see that.”  
“Don’t be rude.” Scamander huffed. “You know what I meant, you didn’t _actually_ teleport.”  
“Brilliant as always, Scamander.” Albus rolled his eyes.  
Scamander eyed him for a minute, before letting out a low whistle. “You don’t know which of us it is, do you?”  
“Of course I know, I’m an excellent detective!” Albus growled.  
“So, which one, Lorcan or Lysander?” Scamander grinned.

Albus glared at him. “The annoying one.”  
“Lysander, for the record.” Scamander had the decency to look contrite. “You must really be worried if you can’t even tell which of us it is. He’s over there talking to Diggory.”

Albus hurried past the useless Scamander, quickly spotting Scorpius seated on the edge of an ambulance, getting his arms bandaged by a paramedic. Diggory was standing over him with a cup of coffee.  
Albus nearly broke into a run, stopping short when he could hear what they were saying.

“—tell Albus, he’ll worry and he’ll come back home immediately.” Scorpius huffed. “He was looking forward to Belarus.”  
“At this point, it’s more of a matter of forcing you into that ambulance. They need to be off.” Diggory said smoothly.  
Scorpius shot the paramedic a look that implied he’d rather be eaten by a bear. “Ambulances mean hospitals mean public records mean forced leave and Orpheus. _No thank you_.”

Diggory smiled sadly. “Well, I can certainly see what Albus sees in you. That’s the kind of work ethic he has, I never thought anyone could match him.”  
“Clearly you haven’t met my brother.” Scorpius muttered wryly as Albus approached. He fixed Diggory with a piercing look. “Swear to me you won’t tell Albus and ruin his time in Belarus.”

“Your landlady has been put in an ambulance!” The paramedic hissed.  
“And 221B looks worse for wear.” Diggory agreed. “Not to mention your own wounds—Scorpius, I think you might need stitches.”  
Scorpius sighed deeply. “No major arteries were nicked, Diggory.”  
“That’s nice. You probably still need stitches.” Albus said smoothly.  
Scorpius whipped around, then glared at Diggory.

“I am not responsible.” Diggory said quickly as Scorpius stood and kissed Albus.  
“Sir, please get in the ambulance.” The paramedic said.  
Scorpius shook his head. “Thank you, but no thank you. Someone else probably needs it more. If the bleeding persists, I’ll go to the A&E.”  
“…is he… allowed to do that?” Diggory asked Albus, who glared at Scorpius.

“You need medical attention.” He snapped.  
“That’s never stopped you.” Scorpius rolled his eyes. “And Diggory was exaggerating.”  
“It never stopped me because I have my doctor.”  
“You know, you _can_ just call me your boyfriend now.” Scorpius pointed out.

Albus’ retort was cut off by what could only be described as an angry pterodactyl screech. Everyone turned to see Orpheus and James drive up. Orpheus leapt out of the driver’s side, and a pale-looking James slowly exited the passenger side, looking as though he was trying _very_ hard not to vomit.

“Oh dear.” Scorpius said mildly.  
“I expected him to be here sooner.” Albus muttered.  
Orpheus pushed past multiple policemen, and stopped in front of his brother. “Why is it that whenever I come to see you, you’ve gone and gotten yourself blown up or something?!”  
“We don’t know who set the bomb.” Diggory replied.

“And really, I only have lacerations from the broken glass.” Scorpius held up his arms. “It’s my own fault for not ducking and covering fast enough.”  
“It shouldn’t be a matter of _fast enough_.” Orpheus growled.

James jogged up. “Hey, shouldn’t you be in Belarus?”  
“It was dull.” Albus snapped. “Tell your boyfriend to back off!”  
“Tell yours to stop getting in trouble, and he’ll go away on his own.” James said coolly. “I don’t like having to take time out of my day to make sure you lot aren’t dead.”  
Orpheus nodded. “I strongly suggest you two separate for some time to work out your priorities.”

James snapped his head so fast towards his boyfriend so fast that it nearly gave him whiplash. “What?”  
“What?” Albus echoed, face looking thunderous.  
Scorpius snorted. “Good luck with that, Orpheus. Aren’t we supposed to firmly be Not Talking? Please stop hovering, I’ve faced down much worse than a minor explosion. I’ve also given myself stitches in the back of a moving van without anaesthetic before, so if you want to give me some thread…?” This last part was directed at the poor paramedic.

“Sir, I don’t think I can legally do that.” The paramedic said. “But we have to be going now. Are you coming or not?”  
“Yes, he is.” Orpheus said through clenched teeth.  
Scorpius shook his head. “I’m not. I need to go clean up 221B. Albus hates cleaning, says he already knows where everything is, and Mrs. Figg isn’t our housekeeper.”  
“…you’re not staying there right now.” Orpheus said.

“We need time to get the bugs all set up again.” James agreed.  
Orpheus shot him a dark look, and James handed him a paper cup of coffee and a paper bag. “Sicilian lemon muffin from Costa Coffee?”  
“Peace offering accepted.” Orpheus muttered.  
“For real though, he nearly had a panic attack when half the bugs dropped out and the other half froze, so it looked like you were just lying on the ground unmoving.” James told Scorpius.

“And that is why you two will be staying with us, so we can take care of you.” Orpheus said.  
Albus and James stared at each other with a mutual expression of shock and horror.  
“Or we could just. Put them up in a hotel?” James said weakly.  
“On the other hand, Diggory could make his career on two sets of brothers murdering each other.” Albus noted.  
Diggory shot him a warning look.

James grabbed Orpheus by the shoulders. “Listen. _Listen_. You know that thing you wanted Albus to do for some reason? The matter of national security? He’s not going to do it if he’s in the house with us. He’ll just torture us by making comments about our sex life before we crack. And you know I love you, but you’ll crack first and probably try to murder him with a butter knife.”

“It’s happened before.” Albus agreed. “Probably not going to do it anyway.”  
“It’s a _matter of national security_.” Scorpius said.  
“Yes, and likely to put us back in contact with my father.” Albus sighed.  
“Scorpius, can you try to convince him…?” James began.

“If we don’t have to stay with you.” Scorpius said quickly. “We’ll take a shitty hotel.”  
Orpheus held a hand to his heart. “ _Rude and unnecessary_. Fine. We’ll email you the results later. Just so you know, you’re getting a _shitty_ hotel. An incredibly terrible one.”

James shook his head slowly, then stopped the minute Orpheus looked at him. Both of them retreated, James jogging slightly to get to the driver’s side first.  
“So,” Albus began. “What was it, a gas leak?”  
Diggory cracked his neck. “Well, that’s what we thought… but then we realized that there were no reports of anyone smelling gas, and that the gas pipes looked suspiciously new for a gas leak.”

Albus’ eyes gleamed. “A distraction.”  
Diggory smiled. “A mislead, more like. I’ll text you once we have more details, you two should go gather your personal effects.” Scorpius and Albus made as if to leave, but then Diggory called, “Oh, and Scorpius? Please don’t put any of this on your blog yet. It’s still an ongoing investigation.”

Scorpius saluted him, and the two walked towards 221B.  
“So, when are you going to let me have a look at the blog?” Albus asked. “Because I’m fairly certain even Diggory reads it.”  
“When you can tell me how the universe’s rotation works.” Scorpius shot him a toothy smile.  
“That is _irrelevant_ and _absurd_.” Albus snapped. “It’s worthless information.”

“Not to my family.” Scorpius sighed. “I was taught everything I could learn about astronomy. That’s just how my father’s mother’s family _works_. I have a cousin called Delphini… right, you don’t know who that is. It’s the feminization of the name Delphinus, the dolphin constellation. My great aunts are called Bellatrix and Andromeda, after stars. Astronomy is a big thing in my family.”

“Well, if I have you to remember it for me, why do I need to know it?” Albus asked.  
Scorpius conceded that point. “You know, you can find my blog just by Googling me? My therapist recommended creating it, it’s not my fault you pulled me headlong into adventure.”  
Albus shifted awkwardly as they reached the landing, and Scorpius kissed him. “Not that I mind.”  
Albus smiled against his lips. “I know.”

True to his word, Orpheus tried to book them a terrible hotel, and true to _his_ , James changed it to a moderately nicer hotel. Over text, Orpheus gradually explained that a worker who had been working on the missile defense program had been found with his head bashed in on some train tracks, and a USB carrying a copy of the plans was missing. James texted that he was fairly certain that this was a test from Orpheus to see Albus’ work in person. Albus was fairly tempted to text that back to see Orpheus’ reaction, but Scorpius wouldn’t let him have his phone.

It turned into a tickle fight, and they both lay back, breathless on the beds.  
“I missed you.” Scorpius said, laying his hand out for Albus to take.”  
Albus took the hand. “I missed you too.”  
“There, was that so hard?” Scorpius chuckled.  
“Yes.” Albus remarked drily. “And no one will ever believe you.”

Albus’ phone pinged, cutting off a reply from Scorpius. ‘It wasn’t a gas leak’ a text from Diggory read. ‘come to the station.’  
“He texts like my father.” Scorpius noted, reading over Albus’ shoulder.  
“We can’t all use acronyms.” Albus drawled.  
“Hey, you _love_ it when I say ILY.” Scorpius laughed. “Now let’s go, before my wounds open up again.”  
“Don’t you have work?”

“Diggory sat me down and wouldn’t leave until I called in sick.” Scorpius huffed. “And then he muttered something about you rubbing off on me.”  
Albus wondered idly if that meant he should take better care of himself, but then dismissed the thought. There were more important things to do, particularly making sure that _Scorpius_ was alright. After all, the poor man was essentially a disaster magnet.


	2. The Plot Thickens

Diggory handed them the letter and folded his fingers underneath his chin.   
“What is this?” Albus asked.   
Diggory shrugged. “It was found in a locked box, addressed to _you_. We scanned it, there’s just paper and a… treat in there.”   
Albus turned it over. “You didn’t open it?”

“Opening someone else’s mail is a criminal offense.” Scorpius pointed out. “Detective Inspector Diggory’s hardly going to break the law.”   
Albus gently opened it, holding it at arms’ length just in case Diggory hadn’t caught something.   
Nothing happened. He pulled out a phone, matching Umbridge’s, and a piece of paper with a big black dog fell to the floor. Scorpius picked it up.

Albus stared at the phone, before saying, “That is an _excellent_ forgery.”   
Scorpius frowned at the card. “What’s this dog business…?”   
Albus peered at it. “Black dogs represent death, usually. It’s an old belief, traced back to the Celts. It’s related closely to the devil, or hellhounds. This is no ordinary dog—it’s a Grim, and that means it’s a warning.”   
“But no one died in the explosion.” Scorpius replied, looking at Diggory. “Right? And wait, aren’t Church Grims benevolent?”

Diggory nodded. “No traces of human remains anywhere near the bomb site.”   
Albus pocketed the picture. “Then it’s a warning. And it’s not a Church Grim, I mean it the Lancashire way. It’s also called a Barguist, a Gytrash, a _Padfoot_. Spectral omen of death. Now back to the larger issue, the phone. This is a near perfect replica.”   
“From the Study in Emerald?” Diggory asked, before turning to Scorpius. “Why emerald?”   
“What.” Albus said flatly.

Scorpius flushed. “I… was very taken by Albus’ eyes.”   
“ _What_.” Albus repeated.   
“The blog. You haven’t read it?” Diggory asked.   
“You _have_?” Albus replied, shooting a glare at Scorpius.

Scorpius shrugged. “He must have Googled me.”   
“Background checks.” Diggory agreed. “It’s hard for those of us who aren’t you.”   
Albus ignored this and looked at the phone again. “It can’t be the same one… but clearly, you have a _fan_.”   
“Oh, don’t say it like that.” Scorpius said. “You make it sound like our next adventure is going to be Stephen King’s ‘Misery’.”

“That would be concerning.” Diggory agreed. “The policeman dies in that, I don’t want to die as the only policeman willing to put up with you two.”   
An automated voice interrupted them. “You have _one_ new voice message.”   
Albus played it. To the tone of the Greenwich Time signal, four short pips and a long one played.

Scorpius squinted at the phone. “Was that… the Greenwich pips?”   
“No, they’re one short.” Albus said. He flipped through the phone’s files, finding only a single picture from an estate listing.   
“What does _that_ mean?” Diggory asked.   
“Some secret societies sent fruit seeds— _pips_ —as a warning.” Albus explained. “Coupled with the Grim… well, I think we all know what this means. We need to find the estate.” He held the phone in the air.

“How? London is _enormous_.” Scorpius said nervously.   
Albus stared at the picture for a moment, then his face lit up. “Scorpius, I believe with Mrs. Figg laid up in the hospital, we now control our section of Baker’s Street!”   
“That is _not_ how that works, and we are in a hotel.” Scorpius explained.   
Albus waved him off. “Unimportant. What _is_ important is that I’ve seen this place before.”

Sure enough, some time later, they walked down the stairs to 221C. Albus had long since grabbed the keys from Mrs. Figg’s rooms, and unlocked the door.   
“Poor security we’ve got around here.” He said jovially, before swinging the door open.   
Scorpius shuddered as they entered. “This place looks like a dungeon.”

“Yes… I did consider that potential company might be put off when I enquired about the place.” Albus noted, before proceeding towards the only items in the room—a pair of shoes.   
Scorpius grabbed his arm. “ _Those_ were put there by a _bomber_.”   
Albus seemed to consider this. “Diggory, run and get Scorpius’ cane.”   
“Really?” Diggory said.   
Albus slung an arm around Scorpius’ shoulders. “I’d be lost without my doctor/blogger, Diggory.”

Diggory sighed, pinched the bridge of his nose, and left. He returned a few minutes later with the cane. Albus took it, didn’t thank him, and proceeded to poke the shoes liberally with it.   
“Very safe.” Albus announced. He picked one up and examined it, much like Hamlet with the skull of poor Yorick.   
“Gloves…” Scorpius sighed.   
Albus dropped the shoe in surprise as a phone rang. Everyone went for his phone, then Albus reached for the pink phone. “Hello?”

“H-hello, M-Mr. Potter.” A woman sobbed on the other end.   
“No solicitors.” Albus said.   
Scorpius glared at him, and mouthed, _that_ _’_ _s not a solicitor_.   
“I suggest y-you pay attention.” The woman wept.

“Why are you crying?” Albus asked, beginning to pace the room. “I abhor when women cry.”   
Scorpius smacked his palm against his forehead.   
“I-I’m not cr-crying, Mr. Potter. I’m _t-typing_.” The woman replied.   
“The internet has taught me that you can do both.” Albus responded. “The result is indeed quite messy. Would you like to call back when you’re less… weepy?”

“No!” The woman shrieked. “ _Pl-please_ , just _listen_ to me! Th-this woman, the one you hear, is j-just a proxy. I c-can’t reveal m-my identity, not yet.”   
“Bother, I was just about to ask who you are.”   
“M-Mr. Potter, w-we both must play by the rules if we want ev-everyone to m-make it out alive.” The woman burst into a fresh wave of tears.

“What are the rules?” Albus asked softly. Scorpius squeezed his hand.   
“Y-you have _twelve_ h-hours…” The woman choked out. “Or th-this unfortunate w-woman is g-going to meet a vi-violent end… I sug-suggest you hurry, I _really_ d-don’t want to have to kill her.” She sobbed. The line cut out.   
“I’m going to take the shoes now.” Albus said.   
Diggory handed him some non-latex gloves. “ _Please_ , keep them pristine. They’re evidence.”

“For 221B? I don’t want to press charges.” Albus said, before looking at Scorpius. “Do you?”   
“…ask me again when this is all over.” Scorpius replied.   
Albus shrugged, and pulled on the gloves. “Fair enough.”   
Soon he and Scorpius were in a taxi on their way to St. Bart’s, Diggory having been left behind on a hunt for clues.

Albus was silent, and he headed straight for Rose’s lab. He examined the shoes more thoroughly, pulling out bits of mud and placing it in a Petri dish.   
“What the hell are you doing here? It’s not time for you to meet Holly.” Rose raised her watch as proof. “And what the hell happened with that explosion? And _Belarus_?”

“We’re on a case.” Scorpius grimaced. “Actually, I should go work, I need something to do—”   
Albus snapped his head up from the microscope. “I need _you_.”   
Rose sipped her coffee. “So that’s how it is. Listen up, Potter. You don’t get to be cuter than me. You’ve been dating… what, a week? I deserve the title of cutest relationship.”   
“To be fair, your relationship doesn’t involve as many…” Scorpius waved his hand. “I want to say, life threatening situations?”   
“Yes. Which is part of why we’re cuter.” Rose replied. “When I go on dates with Holly, one of us doesn’t get kidnapped by a Chinese drug cartel and lie about their identity.”

“Are you still upset about that?” Albus snapped.   
“I nearly died, prick!” Rose huffed, exiting to her own area. Albus stuck his tongue out after her.   
“I keep thinking about that woman.” Scorpius said softly. “The one on the phone.”

“I considered that, but she’s a hostage. Probably completely unrelated. Good try though.” Albus bent over his microscope.   
Scorpius closed his eyes and counted to ten. “Albus. I’m scared for her.”   
“Why? Waste of energy when we could be helping her.” Albus gave him a pointed look.   
“What if it was me?” Scorpius asked.

Albus froze. “That’s different and you know it.”   
“She might have someone she loves, how do you think they’re feeling right now?”   
“ _Irrelevant_. Do you want to solve this or not?”   
“Answer me! What if it was me? Or Rose? Or Pryansh, or Cass?” Scorpius begged.

Albus glared at the microscope. “I’d-I’d… I don’t know. I don’t _want_ to know. Feelings are a distraction.”   
“Then I’m sorry for distracting you.” Scorpius replied, trying to sound frosty but just coming across as sad. His phone beeped, and he reached for it. “Orpheus hasn’t given up yet you know.”   
“Missile plans are out of the country. This is _Dad_ territory.” Albus sniffed.

“You’re not even going to try?” Scorpius sighed.   
“Do you want this woman saved or not?” Albus snapped. “Or do you just want me to _care_ and do nothing?”   
“I’m sorry I asked.” Scorpius replied, sending a reply back to Orpheus.   
“…Scorpius…” Albus began.

“Albus.” Scorpius replied, almost expectantly.   
Whatever Albus was about to say was cut off by Rose returning with a tall blonde with a round face.   
Rose pushed her forward slightly, then peered out from behind her. “This is Holly.”   
She extended a hand to Albus, who looked at it, at her, then back to Scorpius.   
“My name is Holly Longbottom, our fathers went to school together?” She said softly.

Scorpius grimaced. “My father was a prat to yours. I’m so sorry.”   
She laughed melodically. “All in the past now. Besides, I hear that your family fortunes have greatly expanded recently? I’m glad.”   
“Probably, I don’t keep up with news from home though.” Scorpius answered, before walking over and nudging Albus slightly.

Albus looked up, then looked at Holly. “How’s your pub?” He drawled.   
“You really live up to your expectations, don’t you?” Holly smiled.   
“Rose mentioned it.” Albus replied, quirking an eyebrow. “Did you need something?”   
“Not really, I just wanted to meet you. I’ve already met Scorpius, after all, why not the other half of the equation? Besides, you’re one of Rose’s favorite cousins, and I was under the impression that I needed your blessing.”

Albus sighed loudly, and raised his head to stare at her.   
“You need to tell me right now if she’s a serial killer.” Rose hissed at him.   
Albus waved her off. “She’s perfectly normal. She’s got a cat though, aren’t you allergic?”   
“I’m working on bringing an EpiPen into our sex life.” Rose deadpanned, though she looked pleased.   
Holly smiled as well. “So, I pass your inspection?”

Albus nearly growled. “You, Miss Longbottom, are perfectly _ordinary_. You don’t drink, you don’t take drugs, you don’t date anyone your mother wouldn’t approve of. You and my cousin have regular sex, by which I mean it’s painfully normal, not frequent.”   
“You have literally never had sex.” Rose hissed. “Don’t judge me.”   
“Whatever. Have fun with your normal girlfriend, get married and adopt two children, buy a house, live out the rest of your days in a poorly heated flat in Lancaster.” Albus huffed. “Now, let me be.”   
“I’m sorry Holly, we’re a bit busy right now. Perhaps some other time?” Scorpius suggested.

Holly smiled. “No, it’s quite alright. I got the ‘okay’ from Rose’s cousin, after all.”   
Albus pointed towards the door. “Out.”   
Rose glared at him. “This is technically my lab.”   
“I don’t care. _Out_.” Albus ordered.

Holly laughed and linked her hands with Rose’s, kissing her gently on the lips. “It’s alright, love. I need to get back to work anyway.”   
“Alright.” Rose grumbled. “But don’t think I’m letting him get away with this.”   
“You should, he seems a bit busy.” Holly replied. “I’m sure he’s just stressed with work. Come on love, I have time for a coffee…”  

“I’m paying.” Rose announced. “The least I can do after the pillock was… a pillock.” She pulled Holly out of the room gently, and Scorpius sighed. “I _am_ sorry for distracting you with Orpheus. But that, with Holly just now? That was uncalled for.”   
“I’ll apologize later. She really does like Rose, she’ll likely be in this for the long-haul.” Albus said. “And… I’m sorry I snapped at you.”

Scorpius smiled and kissed his ear. “ _There_ we go. We’ll make you the belle of the ball yet.”   
Albus would have gone pink had he been paler. “H-here, I want a second opinion.”   
Scorpius snapped on gloves, and examined the shoes. He gently pulled out the tongue and examined it. “There’s some wear here, but someone cared enough about these shoes to never forgo socks.”   
“Start from the basics.” Albus suggested, but his eyes gleamed.

Scorpius sighed. “These are trainers, worn often by their owner. Some kid is likely missing these.”   
“Adult. They’re from the eighties.” Albus replied.   
“Really? They look too new for that.” Scorpius frowned. “Someone took very, very good care of them for the past 30 years.”   
“Because…?” Albus prompted.   
“They adored these shoes. I’d say… a man, given the shoe size, but he received them when he was young. Boys adore their shoes, and there’s a name right here, faded as it is.”

“Good.” Albus smirked. “What else?”   
Scorpius turned the shoe over, looking at the sole. “Well-worn, but… hang on. I remember this brand. The shoe itself always held up, but the siding came off nearly immediately. That’s been replaced, probably several times. Sentimental value probably, didn’t just get new shoes, went the costlier route of replacing it.” Scorpius gently rotated the shoe. “Bits and pieces don’t quite match, probably replaced as well.”

“And?” Albus said.   
Scorpius turned them over again. After a minute, he looked away from the shoes. “The… mud?”   
“What about it?”   
“Well… wouldn’t they have cleaned the shoes? If they took such efforts to preserve them?” Scorpius asked.   
Albus grinned. “Now you’re getting it.”   
“Did they lose the shoes recently?” Scorpius asked.

“No. They lost them about 30 years ago.” Albus replied smoothly.   
Scorpius frowned. “Then who kept the shoes in a good condition?”   
Albus frowned. “If I had to guess… I’d say our bomber kept them as a trophy.”   
“Alright, so what’d I miss?”

“He had eczema.” Albus replied smoothly. “See the small skin flakes? They were also whitened at least once, and the laces were changed four times specifically.”   
“Now you’re just showing off.” Scorpius commented.   
Albus leaned back. “Pollen analysis from the mud shows that the owner came from Sussex to London 20-30 years ago. And they didn’t lose the shoes. They would never just _lose_ the shoes. They… well…”

“They died. You can say it.” Scorpius frowned. “So the bomber did it?”   
“They did.” Albus agreed. “But I trailed off because I’m fairly certain that I know whose shoes these were.”   
“Well?” Scorpius prompted.   
“Yann Fredericks. One of those boys who obsessively followed my father’s career.” Albus sneered, implying he had strongly disliked Fredericks.   
“Why Fredericks specifically?” Scorpius asked.

Albus scowled. “Remember your comparison to ‘Misery’? I was wrong—they’re my ‘fan’.”   
“While I’m glad I get to keep my foot, I would like more details?” Scorpius prompted, leaning against the wall.   
“I began with Fredericks’ death.” Albus said softly.   
Scorpius handed him his coat and kissed him gently. “Are we off again?”   
“Yes.” Albus said, pulling on the coat. “We are.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bear with me, I promise that Moriarty (or Longbottom) will get more... interesting. Pay attention to the way she approaches both Albus and the woman in the car.


	3. Domesticity Countered With Hostages

“So… Fredericks?” Scorpius asked in the cab.  
“Oh, yes… I forgot you weren’t there with me. It seems like you’ve always been slotted into my life.”  
“You’re dodging.” Scorpius replied.

Albus sighed. “When I was a boy, one of my classmates was an accomplished swimmer. His name was Yann Fredericks, as you know. The school was so bloody proud when he went to a national swimming competition in London. But… he had a seizure. He was dead before they could fish him out of the pool. No one believed me when I said that there were other factors at play. His shoes weren’t there, the shoes he loved so bloody much…”

“And now they are.” Scorpius finished.  
Albus went quiet. Scorpius took his hand, but neither said anything.  
They returned to the hotel, and Albus immediately began pacing the room. He looked up Yann Fredericks on his phone several times, before it pinged, signaling a text. Both men jumped in surprise.  
“James, that traitor.” Albus growled. “He gave the prat my number!”  
“Oh, God. What’d Orpheus say?” Scorpius asked.

“The usual.” Albus sighed. “Go on, tell him I’m putting my best man on it.”  
“…when you say best man…”  
“I mean you, I’m far too busy with Fredericks.” Albus said brightly. “Off you pop, for queen and country and all that you signed up for in the army.”  
“You’re going to leave me to Orpheus’ mercy? What if he kidnaps me, and tries to send me off to Wiltshire?” Scorpius demanded.

“Well, James will be there. Just be adorable as always, and he’ll probably help you.”  
“He’s dating Orpheus, and he _has_ kidnapped me.” Scorpius pointed out.  
“Yes, but he gave you back.” Albus patted Scorpius’ shoulder almost comfortingly before abruptly pushing him out of the room.

Scorpius sighed, leaned against the wall, and texted Orpheus for more information. He was put through to James, who quickly gave him said information about the victim. Apparently Orpheus was in a dental appointment—this didn’t exactly surprise Scorpius, God knows the poor man likely had several cavities.

“He didn’t use the Oyster card himself!” Scorpius called back in at Albus.  
“Then that means he was _moved_! Get my microscope!” Albus called back.  
Scorpius sighed, and left for Baker Street. He quickly returned with the microscope, and Albus quickly took it, setting it up on the floor. He took one of the skin samples left on the shoe, and put it under the microscope. “Aha, clostridium botulinum!”

“What.” Scorpius remarked flatly.  
“Poison, introduced to the eczema cream.” Albus looked pleased with himself. “They wouldn’t have looked for it in the autopsy.”  
Scorpius frowned at the shoes. “But Fredericks always used socks. How were those skin cells still there, not to mention viable?”

Albus paused, and looked up at him. “Someone left us a trail of breadcrumbs. Someone wanted it to be easy for us. Should we be worried?”  
“We only have three hours left.” Scorpius replied. “I think we should just go for it. Put the information on your blog, they’re _your_ fan.”  
Albus nodded, and Scorpius passed him the laptop. Albus typed in something, then said, “Should I type something like, ‘found, pair of trainers belonging to Yann Fredericks? Botulin still active, apply to 221B Baker Street’?”

“Oh, don’t be clever. Not now.” Scorpius nearly begged.  
“Right, right. ‘Yann Fredericks was poisoned by clostridium botulinum in his eczema cream. Traces still active on his trainers’?”  
“Better.” Scorpius agreed.  
Albus typed it in.  
A few minutes later, the phone rang. “W-well done, Mr. Potter. Cl-clearly we can ex-expect great things from you.” The woman’s sobs sounded more relieved.

“I’ll send a bomb disposal squad your way.” Albus said. “Where are you?”  
A few minutes later, after he’d called Diggory, he looked at Scorpius. “We saved her.”  
“You saved her.” Scorpius corrected, smiling gently. “I knew you would.”  
“…I still think it’s not… helpful for me to have emotions. In situations like this, I mean. But…” Albus got up off of the floor and pulled Scorpius into a deep hug. “I kept thinking about if it was you.”  
Scorpius hugged him back. “It’s alright, I’m sorry…”

“Don’t be sorry. Just… don’t… don’t leave me. At least, not like that. Please.” Albus begged. “I need you. I love you.”  
“I love you too.” Scorpius kissed him. “D’you want to go get some Chinese food to celebrate?”  
“I want Indian, actually.” Albus muttered.  
“Then let’s go, I’m starving.”

That night was quiet, and sweet. They stayed up watching cable TV until they both fell asleep, and woke up to a text from Diggory.  
“I probably don’t have today off.” Scorpius groaned, glancing at his now dead phone.  
“Y’were in a ‘rific ‘splosion.” Albus muttered sleepily. “’m sure they’ll make’n ‘ception.”  
“Mm… I need to go to work, and you need to see Diggory. C’mon.”  
“ _Fine_.” Albus huffed, hugging Scorpius. “Jus’… five more minutes… I’ll go see Digg’ry…”  
Scorpius gently pushed him away. “C’mon, let’s go.”

Roughly thirty minutes later, Albus stood in Diggory’s office, sans Scorpius.  
“They grabbed her from her home in Cornwall. She was taken by two masked men who brought her to a carpark, and covered her in explosives. Enough to bring down a house, actually.” Diggory explained. “The words came from a pager that she read off after they gave her the phone and told her to call you.”  
“And she would have been detonated had she deviated from the script, or if I’d been too late.” Albus huffed. “Anything _important_?”

“No.” Diggory shrugged. “But do you know why they did it?”  
Albus looked pained. “Scorpius and I think that they’re a… _fan_ of mine. They got bored, decided to put me to the test.”  
His phone pinged, and he opened it up. Two new photographs had been texted to him—the Grim again, and a picture of an abandoned car.  
“Run the plates, see if anyone’s called it in.” Albus recommended. “They’ll strike again, see if they won’t.”  
Diggory grimaced. “I don’t doubt it. I’ll see if anyone’s called it in, what are you going to do?”  
Albus shrugged nonchalantly. “I suppose I’ll text Scorpius—” The replica phone began to ring again.

Albus picked up. “Hello?”  
“Hey, baby.” A young man said on the other end. He sounded frightened.  
“…you’re not Scorpius.” Albus said. “I think you have the wrong number.”  
“You’re hilarious. I love a man who can make me laugh.” The boy said on the other end.

“You’re _very_ different from the last time we talked.” Albus observed.  
“That? That was Jekyll. Don’t mind her, she’s just a prude sometimes. She may be in a relationship, but that’s no reason not to have _f-fun_.” The boy sounded as though he was shuddering on the other end.  
“And I suppose that makes you Hyde?” Albus frowned. “What do you want, anyway?”

“Oh, don’t be like that. Being rude to me might make this boy go boom, and w-we wouldn’t w-want that, would we?” The boy sounded close to tears.  
“So why are you calling? Did you kidnap someone new just for a social call? I’m aware of the rules, Hyde.”  
“A little bit of both. I have to tell you, I don’t exactly mind the police. As you often point out yourself, they’re useless. If letting baby have a comfort blanket makes him stop crying, why take it away? But I also wanted to congratulate you about Fredericks. I know you hated him—I did too. Nasty boy. Aren’t we both better off?”

“I didn’t want Fredericks dead.” Albus snapped.  
“Ooh, touchy touchy.” The boy said.  
Albus heard a car honk. “What was that?” Albus asked.  
“Oh, just the intersection I’ve left this boy at.” The boy gulped. “People all around him. The stakes are a bit higher this time, I’m afraid. Well, no I’m not. I’m enjoying this, aren’t you?”

“You’re deluded.” Albus spat.  
“And you only have eight hours, use them wisely.” The boy said.  
“What is this, Jim Henson’s ‘Labyrinth’?” Albus huffed. "Stop taking away my time."  
“Smart reference. I’ll be David Bowie. Does that mean I get to see you in a pretty dress?”  
Albus scowled. “Listen, I only have so much time. Goodbye.”  
“See you soon, handsome.” The boy replied.

Albus ended the call, then turned to Diggory. “I’m going to need Scorpius.”  
“That’s not my jurisdiction.”  
“I know, I’m just telling you so you don’t get surprised, and so that you know where I’m going.” Albus replied.

Sure enough, he and Scorpius both turned up at the crime scene. Albus looked incredibly pleased with himself.  
“Don’t you have work?” Diggory asked Scorpius.  
“My boss said, and I quote, ‘Dr. Malfoy, you cannot treat patients looking like one yourself.’” Scorpius huffed. “On the plus side, I finally received stitches for some of the larger lacerations from one of my colleagues on her coffee break.”

“…alright. Clearly, you and Albus are soulmates. I fear for any children you two eventually adopt, and I hope that someone in your lives teaches them survival instincts.” Cedric replied. “Now, the car was rented out by Ian Monkford. Some sort of banker, paid in cash. Told his wife he was going on a business trip, never arrived.”

“That’s incredibly shady.” Scorpius said. “But hardly the sort of thing we’re usually contacted for.”  
Lorcan noticed them and approached as Diggory left. “Potter. Malfoy, you’re still here.”  
“Work wouldn’t let me back yet.” Scorpius pouted.  
“I meant…” Lorcan trailed off at the look on Albus’ face. “You need a hobby, mate.” He finally finished.  
“I’m busy enough as it is. I _should_ pick fencing back up again though.” Scorpius said thoughtfully.

“Yes. That.” Lorcan said. “But I meant… with you and Potter, I guess opposites attract?”  
Albus pinched the bridge of his nose. “ _Scamander_. Yes, we’re dating. Do you have a problem with that?”  
“How can you get a date and I can’t?” Lorcan replied.

Scorpius pulled Albus away before it could escalate.  
“ _Twins_.” Albus huffed. “The bane of my existence.”  
“D’you want to talk to the wife?” Scorpius asked.  
“Is the Pope Catholic?” Albus replied with a smirk, before pulling eyedrops out of his coat and putting them in, making himself look a good deal weepier.

“Do you just carry those around?” Scorpius asked.  
“Of course.” Albus replied. “Why don’t you?”  
Scorpius shook his head, and they made their way over to Mrs. Monkford.

“I’ve already talked to the police.” She said, raising an eyebrow at them.  
“We’re not police.” Scorpius said quickly. “We were just in the area, and…”  
“Albus Potter, we were in school together. When I heard it was Evan—”  
“Ian.” Mrs. Monkford interrupted.  
“Are you sure?” Albus asked.

“I’m so sorry ma’am, my partner has partial amnesia.” Scorpius said quickly. “He remembers many fond times with old… Ian, though he was nicknamed Evan on the schoolground—you know how boys are—but names are a bit fuzzy.”  
“My husband never mentioned you.” Mrs. Monkford said skeptically.  
“Oh, he must have! The only reason I didn’t go to your wedding was because I was out of the country.”  
“We eloped in Switzerland.” Scorpius quickly lied.

Mrs. Monkford looked vaguely argumentative, but didn’t press the issue.  
“I can’t believe it, you poor dear.” Albus clucked. “I only just saw him the other day, ball of sunshine that he was.”  
“My husband was severely depressed.” Mrs. Monkford protested.  
“Well, you never can tell, can you?” Scorpius sighed. “He seemed so brave to us, like he had it altogether.”

“I’m sorry, you were in on this too?” She asked, pointing between them.  
Scorpius made his eyes go wide, like a baby doe. “Mrs. Monkford, I’ve already informed you of my partner’s disability. I go where he goes, just in case he needs me.”  
She looked doubtful. “It must be hard work with a disabled partner.”  
“Lucky I’m a doctor.” Scorpius smiled easily.

“My disability wasn’t the issue. What was wrong with the car?” Albus asked softly, though his eyes were piercing.  
“The tax was up.” Mrs. Monkford said. “He had to rent one instead.”  
Scorpius nodded slowly like he knew what she was talking about. “Why not just take the tube? Who drives in London?”  
“It’s easier to just drive.” Mrs. Monkford replied.

“So like Ian to forget.” Albus sighed.  
“No it wasn’t.” Mrs. Monkford said.  
“Wasn’t it?” Albus asked, eyes glittering with interest.  
“Darling, I think you’re confusing yourself with Ian.” Scorpius clucked, before shooting Mrs. Monkford a sad smile. “If you ever want to talk, we’re available at 221B Baker Street.”

“Don’t give her our address!” Albus hissed as they walked away.  
“She was distraught, I was playing the part of a friend!” Scorpius hissed back. “What was all that about?”  
“People like to contradict each other.” Albus said, before glancing at him. “Eloped to Switzerland? _Really_?”  
“I know. Switzerland hasn’t even legalized same-sex marriage. I can’t believe she didn’t call us out on that!” Scorpius chuckled conspiratorially. “Recognized partnership isn’t even the same thing.”

Albus decided not to point out that he hadn’t known that. Instead, he circled back around to the case. “Odd that she joined me in referring to him in the past tense—there’s still hope, we haven’t found a body.”  
“You don’t think she murdered him.” Scorpius said firmly.  
Albus smirked. “I don’t, you’re right.”

They made their way back to the car. As they passed Lorcan, he mimed casting a reel and fishing.  
“Where to next?” Scorpius asked.  
“Janus Cars, where he rented it out.”  
“Odd name.” Scorpius mentioned. “Janus isn’t a particularly… well-known god these days.”

“Is he in the stars?” Albus demanded.  
Scorpius laughed. “No, he’s not. You’re safe. Mythology was just something else my parents stressed. Janus was a distinctively Roman god, they didn’t steal him. He marks the beginning and end of everything, particularly war and periods of time. He has two faces, and looks to the past and the future.”  
Albus looked thoughtful the rest of the journey. “Two-faced…”

They got to the car dealership soon enough. Ewert, the owner/manager, quickly greeted them.  
“What can I interest you gentlemen in?” He asked.  
“Ian Monkford got a car from you, then disappeared.” Albus said bluntly.

“Yes, terrible business that.” Ewert did his best to look sympathetic. “Seemed a nice enough bloke. Had deep enough pockets too—rented a Tesla!”  
“Ooh, I’ve been meaning to see one of those in action. I can never find the time.” Scorpius said.  
Albus shot him a look. “We’re not here to window shop.”  
“Didn’t _you_ say that people don’t like to talk?” Scorpius asked. “That’s true enough—people don’t like to talk to _strangers_.”  
Albus did not have a very good retort for that. What he _did_ have was a series of altogether excellent glares for Ewert while Scorpius charmed him.

“So, if you could pick any of the cars, which one?” Scorpius asked.  
“Oh, the Tesla for sure. Gotta keep the environment running smoothly.” Ewert gave an exaggerated wink.  
Scorpius grimaced, but then turned it into a smile. “I see! Clearly you can afford it though—why not?”  
“Ah, I can’t be sampling the merchandise. I wouldn’t have anything left to sell.” Ewert gave a charming grin.

“How was your holiday?” Albus blurted out.  
Scorpius and Ewert both turned to look at him.  
“What?” Ewert said.

Albus pointed. “You have tan lines. England doesn’t create tan lines like those, far too cloudy.”  
“It was… good.” Ewert finally said. “It was a tanning bed though, a spa retreat with my wife.”  
“I see. And can I have change for the cigarette machine?” Albus continued.  
Scorpius’ eyes widened. “Albus, now is _not_ the time for a relapse.”

“I saw one on the way in.” Albus continued. “Or perhaps the vending machine? I just need something to chew on, honestly.”  
Scorpius relaxed.  
“Sorry mate, fresh out.” Ewert said awkwardly.

Albus gave a shrug. “It’s alright. Well Scorpius, I suppose we’re out of time. Thank you for your time, Mr. Ewert.”  
Scorpius waved goodbye, and ran after him. “What was that all about?”  
“Tanning beds don’t create tan lines.”  
“I know _that_ , it’s a blatant lie. A stupid one too, in my opinion.” Scorpius huffed. “But really? The cigarettes were your first thought?”

“Don’t worry, I’m clean.” Albus said. “I just… wanted you to be as angry as I am. Watching you flirt—”  
“That wasn’t flirting.” Scorpius interrupted. “ _This_ is flirting.”  
He leaned in close, his breath hot against Albus’ lips, before kissing him on the neck past his collar. Albus’ eyes widened. “THAT IS A BIT MORE PERSONAL THAN FLIRTING.”  
“You didn’t like it?” Scorpius asked.  
“That is _not_ what I said.” Albus replied. His face would have been scarlet if not for his dark skin. “I just… a carpark with the sleaziest car salesman in the world is not the place for this. Our _hotel room_ , on the other hand…”

Scorpius chuckled. “Well, that sounds a bit dirtier, but alright.” He linked his hand with Albus’, and they set off again. “So, what was that coin business?”  
“I needed to know if he had any English coins on him. He was certain that he didn’t—without looking, do you have any pound coins on you?”  
Scorpius frowned in concentration. “I… suppose?”  
“Exactly. But he knew he didn’t. I heard the clink of coins as he led you around the carpark—no, not keys, _coins_ —but they’re not British? His lie grows even more blatant. Now, why would he lie?”

“He’s covering up something to do with Monkford?” Scorpius guessed.  
“Exactly.” Albus grinned.  
They soon reached Albus’ lab, where a sample of Monkford’s blood had been left.  
Albus handed his phone to Scorpius. “Find out from Diggory how much blood was found at the scene of the crime.”  
“He said… about a pint?” Scorpius replied after a minute.

Albus focused the sample of the blood under the microscope when the pink phone rang. He put it on speaker, and left it on the table.  
“What now, I’m busy.” He snapped.  
“I th-thought I’d leave you a little clue.” The boy said. His voice sounded hoarse, as though he’d been crying. “It’s in the name, Janus Cars.”

“The two-faced god, looking to both the future and the past? Unfortunately, my local mythology expert already drew the comparison.” Albus drawled. “Right now, I’m just gathering evidence to support my hypothesis.”  
“Sounds dull.” The boy said.  
“Well, that’s the difference between us. I don’t get bored with just the _idea_.” Albus explained. “I follow through and do the work—Scorpius, why are you smiling? This is a very serious situation.”

“I know, I know. It’s just that you’re not a responsible adult either.”  
“I am a very responsible adult. I don’t flirt with car salesmen.” Albus muttered.  
“You’re still mad about that? No, I mean like paying bills, washing up, doing laundry.” Scorpius explained.  
Albus huffed. “Why d’you think I needed a flatmate in the first place? That stuff’s dull.”  
“That’s the work behind the idea of living in a flat like 221B.” Scorpius shrugged.

The phone interrupted them. “Cheerfully domestic, but I still have a hostage, and he’s still in the middle of a _very_ populated area. Tick-tock, h-handsome.”  
“It’d go faster without interruptions. Jekyll didn’t interrupt me, and look at that! I solved it three hours early!” Albus snapped.  
“Fine, be that way.” The boy said, though he sounded more distraught than angry. The call ended abruptly.

“He sounded so young.” Scorpius noted. “He must be so scared.”  
Albus stepped away from his microscope at last. “Shouldn’t be. I’ve cracked it—the blood’s been frozen, and there was an exact pint of it at the scene.”  
“How d’you know it was an exact pint?” Scorpius asked.  
“I’m good at math.” Albus answered shortly. “Are you texting this to Diggory?”

“Of course, but I’m not your secretary. Hey, with that amount of blood loss he’d also have left a trail to… anywhere, another vehicle, wherever he went, if he was bleeding out like that, correct?” Scorpius guessed.  
Albus smiled. “Exactly. It’s all quite suspicious—and it definitely points to Monkford having faked his death. Well, where does Janus Cars come into it?”  
“The two-faced god of beginnings and endings.” Scorpius supplied. “Ewert was in on it.”

“Janus Cars provides a service where men like Monkford can simply… disappear, should they feel the need. The wife was in on it too, how could she not be?” Albus smirked.  
Scorpius sent this to Diggory. “But where’s Monkford now?”  
Albus gestured for his phone back, and used its browser. “Based on recent weather patterns and flights, given how recent that tan was and Monkford’s car was found… I’d say… Colombia.”  
“What’d she have to gain?” Scorpius asked.

“Life insurance.” Albus shrugged. “He was a banker, probably had it. She’d split it with Janus Cars… get Ewert some fancy new Teslas…”  
Scorpius pulled out his own phone and texted Diggory. “Well, that’s solved. Want to post it on your blog and go get a… too early for dinner, too late for lunch… snack then?”

“Of course.” Albus smirked. “Let me just use Rose’s computer—”  
“No. Use your phone.” Scorpius said firmly. “Don’t spy on your cousin.”  
Albus pouted, but complied. Then he leaned back and smiled at Scorpius. “We make an _excellent_ team.”  
“We do.” Scorpius leaned in and kissed him.

The pink phone rang again, and Scorpius and Albus directed the police to the young man. Then they linked arms, and strode off into the night once again triumphant.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I told you that Holly wasn't... the entirety of the equation. But if she's Jekyll, who's Hyde? ;)
> 
> As always, I use the transcript by Ariane De Vere on LiveJournal as a baseline, check it out, she's really thorough and it's _awesome._
> 
> If you need to reach me, I'm on tumblr @notherefortheanonhate


	4. I'm So Sorry For All The Medical Jargon

Scorpius sipped his morning tea in the café.   
Albus stole a croissant from his plate.   
Scorpius shot him a smile. “Thief.”   
“I’m your boyfriend, I can steal your food.”

Scorpius smiled, then sighed. “I’ve been thinking… remember what Rowle said? That they were hired by a fan of yours?”   
“You think it’s the same person as the bomber?”   
Scorpius frowned. “I don’t know what’s more horrifying, that there are two of these psychopaths obsessed with you, or that they’ve been doing this since we first met.”

“Before, probably.” Albus muttered. “They apparently went to school with me—they mentioned that they knew I didn’t like Fredericks.”   
“Maybe they just heard about it.” Scorpius shuddered. “God, I hope so.”   
Albus chewed on the croissant, the carefree mood between them more or less ruined as they waited for the inevitable picture of the Grim and next clue.

Scorpius had just finished his tea when the pink phone pinged again. Albus sighed and took it out. The picture of the Grim was back, and seemed closer. Time was running out, apparently. The second picture was of a smiling woman.   
Albus grimaced. “As though it wasn’t hard enough.”   
“Jekyll and Hyde wouldn’t give you something impossible, let me see.” Scorpius held out his hand, then squinted at the picture. “Isn’t that… Celestina Warbeck?”

“What?” Albus asked.   
“Yeah, I think it is. She has a reality show these days about finding singing talent—it’s not quite X-Factor, don’t worry. I think she just had to do _something_ after she retired.”   
“How do you know it’s her?” Albus asked.   
Scorpius shrugged. “My grandmother on my father’s side adored her. I grew up with Warbeck’s albums shelved among our Disney films. I probably saw one or two episodes before Grandmother decided that it was ‘trash television’ as well.”

“How long has this been running?” Albus asked.   
Scorpius shrugged, pulling out his phone and Celestina Warbeck’s show’s Wikipedia page. “A while. She ended up taking on Gilderoy Lockhart as a co-host and judge but he’s kind of relegated to the background a lot.”

“He is utterly useless except to be eye candy.” Albus agreed. “But what does this have to do with--?”   
He was cut off by the pink phone ringing. He answered the call. “Hello?”   
“H-hello, Mr. Potter. I’m so sorry about Hyde, They have no sense of propriety.” An old woman said into the phone.   
“We’re not here to discuss Hyde.” Albus snapped.

“Please don’t be rude, Mr. Potter. Doris here has had a trying day as it is. There’s something you should know before you proceed, Mr. Potter. Doris is visually impaired, I have to relay my words to her through an earpiece.” The old woman creaked.   
“Why? Hyde is clearly the mastermind.” Albus spat.   
“Hyde and I are two sides to the same coin. Catch one, and you’ve got the other.” The old woman—Doris?—replied. “You have twelve hours.”

“ _Why_? Why are you doing this? Is it _amusing_ to you?”   
Doris sighed. “Mr. Potter, it’s not amusing to _me_. It’s far too drawn out and messy. I’m doing this because I can’t leave Hyde alone with this. Hyde’s doing it for what I assume is the amusement, but also the giddy rush of finding someone on your intellectual level after years of being more or less alone. And no, I don’t count to Hyde. We’ve always been the same.”   
“Hyde has a strange way of celebrating.” Albus ground out.

Doris was silent for a moment, then she said, “That’s true. Between the three of us, I worry the most for Hyde. They’re… unstable. This is a game to them. And no matter what happens, no matter who wins, it won’t end well for the loser. That’s why I’m doing this. To make sure that Hyde doesn’t ruin themselves over you. But enough chatter, you only have so much time to save Doris. Please focus.”

Jekyll cut the line, and Albus stared at the phone.   
“Jekyll and Hyde are… aware of each other and how they interact.” Albus said slowly. “And Jekyll said ‘the three of us’… Hyde is apparently a different entity from Jekyll altogether.”   
Scorpius nodded. “From what I’ve heard, it doesn’t _sound_ like a split personality disorder.”   
“So that means we have two adversaries, both highly intelligent if Jekyll is to be believed.”

Scorpius smiled slightly, and rose from the table. “I may not be a clever clogs, but I _do_ have a medical doctorate. I’d like to think I’m smart enough to at least try to tip the balance in our favor. Come on, I found something out while you were talking to Jekyll.”   
“Really? What?” Albus asked.   
“Celestina Warbeck’s dead.” Scorpius replied as they left the café. “Text Diggory to see where she is.”

She was in St. Bart’s, as luck would have it.   
Rose pulled back the sheet covering her, revealing Celestina from the waist up. “The official cause of death is that she accidentally impaled her hand on a rusty nail in her garden shed two days ago. Boom, tetanus.”   
“Scorpius, what’s the incubation rate for tetanus?” Albus asked.

“Well, it varies from person to person, but the average is ten days.” Scorpius said, putting on the pair of disposable gloves that Rose offered him. “And it’s a hidden sort of illness. Symptoms include muscle and abdominal pain, and spasms triggered by minor stimuli. She would have sought medical help. Rose, do you happen to have her records on hand?”

“I had Holly get them when I heard you were coming.” Rose sighed. “She hadn’t been to a general practitioner in months, _but_ she did have a tetanus shot within the last ten years. Something about a charity concert in Sierra Leone after a natural disaster? The file’s on my desk, you can look if you want.”   
“No. I believe you.” Albus replied. “So, that means someone is _lying_ , and lying _badly_. Why tetanus…?”

Scorpius grimaced. “Well, if I remember correctly, its scientific name is _clostridium tetani_. If they’re using _clostridium botulinum_ like with Fredericks, it’d be easier to disguise it as something in the same genus. If that’s what the people doing the autopsy think that they’re looking for, anyway. Since we already know Jekyll and Hyde had a hand in Fredericks’ death, maybe they had a hand here and killed Celestina Warbeck as part of their sick game.”

Albus turned and stared at him. “ _Oh_. Oh, you’re clever. I could just kiss you.”   
“I’m not stopping you.” Scorpius smiled.   
“So we all agree that this wound they’re trying to pass off as a tetanus wound is irrelevant, right?” Rose asked, pointing at Celestina’s hand. “Because that was clearly made after death.”   
Albus pulled away from Scorpius. “You saw that? Yes. Good. Excellent job, Rose.”

“I try to earn my paycheck.” Rose snarked. “So, you want to know how they got the _clostridium_ _botulinum_ into her? The only other marks are cat scratches and an injection point into her face, likely Botox.”   
Scorpius peered at the body, then tapped his chin thoughtfully. “And there are no other signs of injury…?”

“I haven’t done an autopsy yet, so I’m leaning towards ‘no’ for now.” Rose replied. “I think she went into reflexive cardiac arrest as it spread through her body.”   
Scorpius paused for thought. “The spasming… she wouldn’t have sought _any_ help? I find that hard to believe.”   
“Not if it was the one that killed her. Like Fredericks.” Albus glared at the body as though Celestina Warbeck was personally responsible.   
“Right. Except none of this is how _clostridium botulinum_ generally manifests.” Scorpius said. “Neither wound botulism nor food botulism cause _muscle_ spasms…”

“But they do shut down the nervous system.” Albus said. “Eventually spreading to the respiratory system, don’t they?”   
“They do.” Scorpius agreed uncertainly. “Fredericks drowned either way, but… Rose, how soon can you get that autopsy done?”   
“Sooner when you leave.” Rose replied. “But, here’s the thing. Most botulism cases—and let’s stop being clever clogs, this _is_ botulism—come from food poisoning. This doesn’t look like a wound case, those look like a shitty Botox job was done. _But_ to my knowledge, Warbeck is the only one brought in from that house.” 

Albus clapped his hands together. “It’s so lovely having doctors on hand. Alright Scorpius, we’re off to Celestina Warbeck’s house to find a motive!”   
“Wouldn’t the poisoned food have long been tossed?” Scorpius asked.   
Albus nodded towards Rose. “Not in her digestive tract. Please hurry.”   
“I’ll try.” Rose shrugged. “I know what’s at stake.”   
“We still have a few hours.” Scorpius grimaced. “Let’s make them count.”

Half an hour later, he knocked firmly on the door to Gilderoy Lockhart’s home, previously shared with Celestina Warbeck.   
Lockhart opened the door with a flourish. “Hello there young man, it’s always nice to meet a fan!”   
Albus appeared from around the bend. “ _Hello_ , Lockhart.”

Lockhart’s smile became frozen. “Oh… for a moment there, you reminded me of a former student of mine…”   
“Harry James Potter, the boy who lived. My father.” Albus said shortly. “A colossal prat, I know. Can we come in? We have some questions.”   
Lockhart brightened considerably again at hearing Harry be badmouthed. “Oh, yes, yes, of course, come in!”   
The home was unbearably tacky, swathed in lurid shades of lilac, violet and lavender at every turn. Everything that was _not_ purple was covered in pictures of Lockhart smiling brightly at the camera.

Lockhart sat the boys down on a purple striped sofa. “Now, what do you want to ask me? How brave I was during my defeat of the yeti?”   
Scorpius grimaced. Lockhart had been a famous cryptid hunter and had written many books (mostly about himself) before being revealed as a fraud during his stint as a teacher at the prestigious boarding school Hogwarts. Scorpius’ father Draco hadn’t had an opinion on him one way or another, but his aunt Daphne thought Lockhart had been a nuisance who was _supposed_ to teach them self-defense and failed miserably. She still ranted about him being useless sometimes.

“You… lived with Celestina Warbeck, yes?” Scorpius asked, worried that he’d be offered purple tea before too long. Lockhart’s face fell.   
“It’s hard to see any of her tastes among your… superior decorating skills.” Albus added drily.   
Lockhart’s face perked up again, apparently not picking up on Albus’ sarcasm. “Yes, I did! We split the house in two, we really only came together for meals.”

“Why did you live together?” Albus asked. “Were you two…?”   
“No, no, of course not!” Lockhart said hurriedly. “She was a… mentor… to me, some might say.”   
Scorpius was of the opinion that Celestina Warbeck had never hunted a yeti in her life, or else Grandmother would have thrown out her albums long ago.   
Lockhart continued. “We decided to share a house because her third husband Irving Warble died and I needed a place to stay. It became easier after we decided to work together, and we used the dining room to rehearse sometimes.”

“Rehearse?” Albus asked. “What’s there to rehearse?”   
“Oh, all of Celestina’s old songs. She still liked to sing, even if it was no longer for audiences.” Lockhart said fondly. “I came in with an _excellent_ tenor, I must say, and we sounded better than those banshees she used to back herself up with before.”   
Scorpius nodded slowly. “You and Madam Warbeck were of course close in her old age?”

“Oh, definitely. I was her best friend.” Lockhart smiled, before pulling out a mauve handkerchief and dabbing his eyes.   
“You never felt angry that you didn’t have as much time in the spotlight on the show?” Albus asked.   
Lockhart stared at him suspiciously.

“You really deserved it, it’s rotten of her not to have let you get more time onscreen.” Scorpius added hastily.   
Lockhart preened. “Well, you’re right. I deserved far more credit than I ever got, believe me. Never fear though, I will continue the show… in memory of my lovely friend, of course.”   
“Of course.” Albus agreed. “So, what happened with the tetanus?”

“Celestina was in the garden, poor dear. I never went in, because my nails are _manicured_ once a week. She picked up the habit from her second husband, the manager. She went to get a trowel from the shed and…” Lockhart dabbed at his eyes again. “I didn’t even see it happen, she just came in with a nasty cut. I _begged_ her to get a booster shot, but it was too late.”

Albus narrowed his eyes at the flagrant lie. Scorpius swooped in. “I see! Um… Mr. Lockhart, your figure is quite slim. I was wondering about your diet?”   
“It _is_!” Lockhart said happily. “I have been on a juice cleanse recently, it’s done _wonders_ for my figure!”   
“I see. And Celestina wasn’t on this marvelous diet?” Albus asked smoothly.

Lockhart shook his head. “Celestina wouldn’t—she despised drinking liquid all the time. She preferred lean meat and salads.”   
Scorpius nodded slowly. “And who prepares your food, generally?”   
Lockhart perked up. “That’d be Raoul! Oh, he’s so sweet, he always listened to me prattle on about Celestina.”   
Scorpius and Albus shared a look, afraid of what _Lockhart_ considered prattling on.

“And what else does Raoul do around here?” Albus asked smoothly, taking Scorpius’ hand.   
“Well, he’s the chauffeur—he’d drive Celestina to her Botox appointments, for example. She was always very careful about it, she didn’t want anything to accidentally mar her face.” Lockhart replied.   
A handsome Spaniard with a very open shirt for the chilly weather outside appeared in the doorway. “Gilderoy, I need you.”

“Good God, did he just wander out of a saucy romance novel?” Scorpius muttered to Albus.   
Lockhart went to Raoul, lacing their fingers together. “I was just talking about you! These fans came by, asking about Celestina.”   
Raoul glared at Albus and Scorpius for a minute, before asking, “Then why were you talking about me, _mi Corazon_?”   
“Well, they asked about my diet.” Lockhart explained. “I told them that you’re the chef. Among other things, really.”

Raoul’s smile became strained. “Anyone could do it.”   
Albus smiled at them, but it was more feral. “Oh, I suppose. Tell me though sir, you and Mr. Lockhart are quite close. You listened to all of his… complaints… over the years.”   
“What’s your question?” Raoul asked suspiciously.   
Albus’ smile grew. “Oh, nothing really. Just if you felt—like us—that he should have had a bigger role on the show.”

“…many people thought that after Celestina’s on-air breakdown last week.” Raoul finally huffed. “I’m sorry, but we’re a bit busy now. Please come back later.”   
“Of course.” Scorpius said quickly. “Thank you for having us, Mr. Lockhart. You have a lovely home.”   
They left, and Scorpius quickly pulled out his phone to Google the breakdown.

“You’re becoming a better liar. That place was hideous.” Albus noted as they walked down to the street to get a taxi.   
“Oh, here it is.” Scorpius said.   
They crowded around the phone.

Celestina Warbeck, alive, smiled at a participant. “That was _gorgeous_! That’s the best rendition of ‘A Cauldron Full of Hot, Strong Love’ that I’ve heard since my last tour years ago! You’re through to the next round.”   
The camera focused on Lockhart, who seemed to be steeling himself for something, before he flashed a bright smile. “ _Actually_ , I think that it was a bit pitchy.”

Celestina’s smile froze. “Gilderoy, what are you doing?”   
“Initiating ‘Sudden Death’.” Lockhart replied, using the show’s lingo.   
“Gilderoy, this isn’t your shot to call.” Celestina said.   
“Well, it _should_ be!” Lockhart shot back.

Celestina looked as though she was grinding her teeth. Then she flashed a brilliant smile. “We will be _right back_ after these messages!”   
The clip skipped the advertisements, and returned to the show. The contestant was now crying as Lockhart and Celestina screamed at each other.

“I am doing you a _favor_ by appearing on your shit show, you stupid cow!” Lockhart screeched.   
“I _made_ you, Gilderoy! Before me, you were a two-bit hack a 12 year old exposed as a fake! Don’t you _dare_ act like you have done _shit_ for me!” Celestina thundered.   
“ _How dare you_ bring Harry Potter up!” Lockhart yelled. “That was a very traumatizing event for me!”   
“Don’t try to get too big for your britches on my show again.” Celestina spat, before adding a somewhat forced, “please. This won’t end well again, Gilderoy. You’re just not made for these sort of big decisions.”

“Does that mean I’m through to the next round?” The contestant whispered.   
Celestina grimaced. “Can we cut to commercial again?”   
The clip ended, and Scorpius put his phone away. “That was… insane.”   
“Good for her, going for the weak spots.” Albus said approvingly. “And that was _not_ a breakdown, so that’s another point against Raoul. Actually, I think it’s pretty clear now.”

“We have enough to arrest him on?” Scorpius asked.   
Albus’ phone pinged several times. He grinned. “I think we might. Rose always double texts.”   
Sure enough, Rose had turned up an enormous amount of _C. botulinum_ bacteria in Celestina’s stomach lining. That, coupled with everything else, highly implicated Raoul. The reason _why_ Raoul had claimed that it was tetanus was after the unfortunate injury—but that had been cleaned—and because this amount of _clostridium botulinum_ was no mere result of food poisoning. It all fit together. Albus intended on making a post as soon as he got back.

“Another one solved.” Scorpius smiled.   
Albus leaned back against the seat. “Well, not by me. You and Rose were the clever clogs this time.”   
“We have medical degrees, it’d be odd if we _didn_ _’_ _t_ pick this sort of thing up.” Scorpius smiled. “Besides, you’re not omniscient.”

Albus smiled. “I’m not saying it’s bad. I’m impressed. And… kind of turned on? Is this what it’s like being you?”   
Scorpius laughed. “Asshole. But yes. It is kind of like that.”   
The pink phone rang, preventing the conversation from continuing.

Albus sighed into the receiver. “What now?”   
“I just want you to know that you shouldn’t be afraid to Google anything. Literally anything about these circumstances falls apart a bit once you have any knowledge about what’s going on.” Doris creaked.   
“Like the fact that tetanus and the poison that Raoul the house boy used in Celestina’s meal come from the same genus?” Albus asked.

“…that was faster than I thought.” Doris conceded.   
“I had two doctors on hand.” Albus smiled at Scorpius. “And by the way, Hyde seems fond of botulism.”   
Doris sighed. “She is. …listen, a word of advice, I can only do so much. Don’t drag your cousin into this. It’s too late for your boyfriend, Hyde was probably already planning on ripping him apart. But you can still save Rose.”   
“How did you know that it was Rose?” Albus demanded.   
“The same way I know many things. What’s the term your boyfriend uses… you’re not the only ‘clever clogs’.”

“That’s too personal to know through deduction!” Albus growled.   
“I didn’t say it was deduction. I just use it to get people to tell me more. Hyde thinks I’m better at dealing with people, and that’s honestly fine by me. Now, you’ve won, fair and square. Don’t forget to update, I need to show Hyde. But Doris is released.”

There was silence for a moment, then Doris said, “Hello…?”   
“I need an address.” Albus said firmly.   
“...her voice was so gentle…” Doris said softly.   
“Address, please.” Albus said. “You’ve still got a bomb strapped to you—”

“What? No, of course not. I removed that thing when I went to the loo. Terribly itchy. Only the man with the gun left, and she’s probably called him off by now. I’m going to go get something to eat.” Doris interrupted cheerfully.   
Albus stared at the phone. “You… took it off?”   
“Of course. I brought a blanket in with me so it could cover me.” Doris replied. “As I said, itchy. Also easy to take off. I left the bomb in the bathtub.”

“I think you should tell someone, so that they can get a defusal squad over.” Albus finally said.   
“Yes, good idea.” Doris said happily. “Wouldn’t want that in there when I take a bath later tonight. …by the way, are you related to Harry Potter?”   
“I’m… his son.” Albus said slowly.   
“That’s excellent. Thank you for saving my life—just like your father did with that Riddle character! Potters always come through for Doris Crockford, they do!”   
Albus stared at the phone again. “I’ll… be sure to pass that on…”

Doris hung up, and Scorpius took Albus’ hand. “So, that ended much better than I thought it would.”   
Albus still looked thunderstruck. “She just… took off the bomb. In the loo.”   
“I _was_ wondering about that, actually. Did the others just stay there and hold it in for hours on end? Did the snipers get them something to drink? There are so many logistical problems to these cases.” Scorpius noted.

Albus chuckled, which soon grew into a full-blown laugh. Scorpius was fairly certain that it was brought on by nerves, but smiled all the same.   
“God, is that really what you’ve been wondering about?”   
“Vaguely. Don’t judge me, you’re the callous one.” Scorpius grinned.

Albus pressed a kiss to his lips. “I know that, my sweet doctor.”   
Scorpius smiled as they pulled away. “Sweetheart.”

Later, they were sat in their apartment. Albus had long since updated his blog. Scorpius had gone to work and returned before the next call came, and now they were simply waiting again, half-listening to the news on the television.   
Scorpius looked at Albus, who was beginning to tap his foot. “Was that the last one?”   
“No. The first one had four pips. Four cases. It wouldn’t just end with Doris freeing herself.” Albus grimaced.

Scorpius rose from his armchair. “I’m going to make us both some tea. Did you put anything in the kitchen recently?”   
This was code for, ‘am I going to find a head in the fridge or eyeballs in the microwave’.   
“No, I haven’t had the time.” Albus sulked. “Shame too, I wanted to see the effects of heat on tear ducts.”   
“Tear ducts work best with a living person, your data would be skewed anyway.” Scorpius called from the kitchen. “Perhaps how quickly skin cells deteriorate in various environments?”

He returned with the tea, and Albus kissed him gratefully. “You know me so well.”   
Scorpius laughed. “How could I not? I see you more than any other person in my life.”   
“Mm… true.”   
“Hey, I just want to say that… I’m glad that Doris got away safely, and everything, but… you did care. You’re not overly expressive, but you _did_ care.”

“I didn’t want her to _die_.” Albus grumbled, though he was smiling.   
“No, but you told her not to tell you about the bomber when you thought she was still in danger. It’s small, but if you were really callous, you would have pressed for details. There’s only so much Doris could—and did—tell you. So, I’m sorry for what I said in the basement of St. Bart’s.”

“Don’t call it a basement, it makes me sound like a vagabond.” Albus said as he sipped his tea. “But you’re not wrong—I don’t generally care about things like this. Do you remember when we first met, how I handled Umbridge and Micheal? I… emotions are a distraction, I stand by that. But, if it makes you happy, I’m willing to try and reverse that position.”   
“You make me happy.” Scorpius said firmly. “As you are.”   
Albus looked extremely relieved. “ _Thank God_.”

“Just keep doing what you’re doing now—not deliberately being incredibly callous.” Scorpius leaned against him.   
At that moment, the phone pinged. Albus pulled it out, scrolled past the requisite picture of the Grim, and peered at the picture of a riverbank. “That’s the Southern Thames… I’d say, between Southwark Beach and Waterloo.”

Scorpius pulled out his own phone and scrolled around the news after typing in the area in the search bar. “She _did_ say we could use Google…”   
Albus grimaced. “What Jekyll says, Hyde may not adhere to. Hyde is obsessed with me, and how I solve cases. Hyde loves that I’m clever.”

“Who doesn’t?” Scorpius muttered.   
Albus raised an eyebrow. “Right… I’m going to call Diggory, ask if he has anything.”   
“Diggory doesn’t control the whole city.” Scorpius pointed out. “Why not just go there ourselves?”   
“…we could tamper with the evidence.” Albus said, which was code for, ‘I didn’t think of that myself but I won’t admit that to you or anyone else, no matter how I love you’. (Clearly, it was used less often than Scorpius’ kitchen question.)

Scorpius shrugged. “But you told Diggory where we’re going?”   
“At this time of night?” Albus said innocently, though he reached for his coat. “Yes, of course.”   
Diggory was already there by the time the boys got to the scene, as was a freshly dead body.   
“The same poison as always, right? We can go home?” Cedric asked.   
Albus glared at him. “Where’s your loyalty to your job?”

“…okay, so…” Cedric sighed. “Cho and I have been planning—”   
“Stop. I regret asking.” Albus said. “I don’t want to hear about your sex life—and you really still call her Cho?”   
“She said she had it legally changed while on the run from the Tong, and that everyone already calls her Cho anyway.”   
Albus rolled his eyes. “Of course. So, just to reiterate, I don’t care that Dak Cheon is ovulating. Just adopt, Diggory.”

“You’d still be like a son to me.” Diggory said fondly. “Don’t worry.”   
Albus squinted at him in the twilight as Scorpius pulled on some latex gloves and knelt to examine the body, turning it over so that it was face up.   
“Diggory, I have a younger sister. I’m not an only child, I wouldn’t be jealous.” Albus said.   
“Are you two still going on about how sad Albus will be when you eventually have a child of your own, Detective Inspector?” Scorpius asked. “Because I can definitively say that this man wasn’t poisoned by _clostridium botulinum_.”

“How can you tell?” Diggory asked.   
Scorpius handed Albus his phone, which he had been using as a torch, then pointed gently moved his fingers along the wounds as he explained. “This man struggled as he went down—look at his fingernails. I’m willing to bet they have skin tissue from his assailant under them, but they’re also somewhat broken. The larynx is not only bruised, it’s partially caved in, effectively cutting off his air supply. His hyoid bone—right here, under his chin—is also broken from what I can tell. All of the signs point to manual strangulation. You don’t poison a man you kill like this, especially not when high amounts of _clostridium botulinum_ have been tossed around recently to quickly kill someone anyway. Albus, thoughts?”

“The police should have lights up.” Albus commented, handing the phone to Diggory and kneeling beside Scorpius. “This looks like the work of the Werewolf—look, there’s a bite mark on his cheek.”   
Scorpius grimaced. “Fenrir Greyback? If he’s involved, this is indicative of something far more foul at work.”   
Albus stared at him with slightly narrowed eyes. “Alright. How do you know about the Werewolf?”

Scorpius sighed. “That is a discussion for another time. How do _you_ know about him?”   
“My father’s been after him for years.” Albus did not stop staring.   
Scorpius pursed his lips. “If we run into him, you’re going to want me to do the talking.”   
“I may be an old coot, but who’s the Werewolf?” Cedric asked.

“An Eastern European contract killer.” Scorpius answered. “Notoriously hard to find.”   
“In the top 30 of Interpol’s most wanted.” Albus said. “Naturally, that means everyone else, including MI-6, is after him.”   
“So what’d this bloke do to get Greyback after him?” Cedric continued.   
Scorpius, anticipating that Albus was about to do a lot of touching of evidence, pulled a pair of non-latex gloves out of his other pocket and handed them to Albus.

Albus snapped on the gloves, and immediately did as Scorpius had thought. “There’s not much left of the evidence, but there’s _enough_. The pants and shirt look formal, but on closer inspection they’re cheap polyester. A uniform then. But for what?”   
“A patch of fabric was pulled away from his breast pocket.” Scorpius squinted through the dark and small light of the phone torch. “So he didn’t have some sort of coat… that rules out a lot, I’d say. Security guard?”

Albus nodded, shooting Scorpius a smile. “ _Exactly_. This is corroborated by his arse—he leads a very sedentary life. Lots of sitting, looking at screens. Some walking, I’d wager. Diggory, the light?”   
Cedric obliged as Albus raised the pant legs and pushed the sock down.   
“Varicose veins, a lot of walking.” Scorpius agreed.   
Albus pulled off a shoe and sock. “And wear on his foot. Now, it’s quite possible this man took the day shift and that’s why we’re only finding him now. I doubt it though, he was murdered roughly twelve hours ago.”

Scorpius nodded. “Full rigor mortis, but nowhere near decay yet. I’d agree with that.”   
“So, night guard, probably.” Albus said, fiddling with the watch. “And again, corroborated. The watch is set for 2:30, but the buttons are stiff. He has a routine. And back to the patch Scorpius noted—the insignia was recognizable, so it had to go.”   
“Why leave the uniform?” Scorpius asked.

“I suspect that Greyback was interrupted.” Albus said.   
Scorpius raised an eyebrow. “Albus, Greyback is a very large man. He is not _easily_ cowed, though it is possible. What could spook him?”   
“That’s not relevant.”

“Oh, I think it is. We mentioned the skin cells on Fredericks’ shoes before—how Jekyll and Hyde were leading us by the nose. They’re doing it again. What happens when they stop leaving us a paper trail?” Scorpius asked. “Or worse, we follow it straight into a trap?”   
Albus shifted uneasily. “I doubt that’s what will happen. Hyde’s obsessed with me—”   
“And you think that Hyde is mentally stable enough to not try to kill me and get rid of the competition? Or worse, to kill you and keep you as a trophy forever? Worse—Jekyll _is_ more stable, but she’s also cunning enough to keep up with Hyde. We pose a threat to them. Jekyll could lock _us_ in a room with Greyback.” Scorpius pointed out.

Albus pursed his lips. “We have no choice but to play the game. They’ll blow someone up if we don’t, you know that.”   
Scorpius stood and dusted himself off. “I know. Just… be cautious. It’s not _just_ a murder, it’s a murder done for _you_. That doesn’t worry you?”   
“We don’t have time to be worried.” Albus huffed.

He dug through the corpse’s pockets. “There, ticket stubs. A museum or gallery, then. The name’s been washed away by the river, but that doesn’t matter. The Hickman Art Gallery just so _happens_ to have found a long-lost painting, worth 30 million pounds. It’s been everywhere. And you don’t hire hitmen to kill museum or gallery employees unless something big is happening. Therefore, he knew about it. _Ergo_ , the painting is a fake.”

Scorpius and Cedric looked at each other.   
“Does your sister in law qualify as a hitman?” Scorpius asked.   
“Yes, but she was after that pin. So, he’s not wrong.” Cedric pointed out.   
“Fair point.” Scorpius conceded. “So, I suppose we have to say _why_ it’s a fake? Hyde’s so picky.”

Albus smiled slightly. “Well. We also have to spot what professional art critics and historians didn’t. A _challenge_.”   
Scorpius sighed. “Let’s go, then.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Scorpius and Rose can do things too. Especially given that _they_ have medical degrees and Albus does not. 
> 
> Also, ask if you don't know the characters because I pulled some obscure Harry Potter ones (Fredericks is from 'Cursed Child') and I worry? But then again y'all are reading this, and you're probably just as nerdy as me.


	5. A Lot To Take In

Scorpius was beginning to think that they needed some sort of frequent usage card for all the cabs that they got into. And this was _after_ the incident with Rowle. Scorpius wondered idly whether or not they would have just moved into a cab had Rowle not tried to kill Albus.

“Where to?” The cabbie said.   
“…Waterloo Bridge.” Albus said.   
Scorpius shot him a look. “We can walk. What about the gallery? Shouldn’t we spend time on the painting?”   
“Soon. I need to meet with someone.” Albus said. “Don’t think I’ve forgotten about how you know about Greyback.”

“…shouldn’t we be more concerned with the fact that Hyde hasn’t called?” Scorpius asked.   
“Touché.” Albus conceded. “However, I think you’ll find that I can worry about multiple things at once. Diggory’s gone. Tell me.”

Scorpius sighed, running a hand through his hair. “So, do you know who Lucius Malfoy is?”   
“The Death Eater…? You’re related to him?” Albus pressed.   
Scorpius grimaced. “It’s… not exactly a common surname, especially in England. He’s my grandfather—wait, did you run _no_ background checks on me?”   
“Why would I need to run background checks?” Albus asked.   
Scorpius passed a hand over his face. “Albus, what if I was a criminal getting close to you to kill you?”

“Are you?”   
“No…”   
“So it’s a moot point. Anyway, Lucius Malfoy introduced the two of you?”   
Scorpius shook his head. “No, he’s just context—the family has… distanced… itself from that sort of thing, formally at least, but that, coupled with the fact that my mother’s mother is a Reller and my godfather is a Zabini, means that we’re still somewhat entangled in Europe’s dark underside. It’s still profitable for them, after all.”

“And Greyback…?” Albus prompted.   
Scorpius raised an eyebrow. “I just admitted that my family is somewhat involved in organized crime and you don’t care?”   
“No, because you’re not, and it’s irrelevant. You knew _details_ about Greyback.”   
Scorpius sighed. “He hasn’t been to Malfoy Manor in decades—Father’s skittish around him, no one exactly knows why. I met him in Switzerland once, Oma hired him for something or other.”

“And she brought you?”   
Scorpius nodded once. “My family had certain expectations for me. I was the best shot out of the three of us, I didn’t have Aurora’s head for business, and I didn’t have Orpheus’ tenacity. They wanted to make me useful, and I… well, I didn’t want to be that sort of ‘useful’.”

Albus nodded sagely, then got out of a moving car.   
Scorpius shouted for the driver to stop, then scrambled after him.   
“Albus, you cannot just get out of a car like that! Especially in the middle of a conversation!” Scorpius hissed.   
Albus ignored him, and handed a homeless teenage girl 50 pounds and a note.   
“What are you doing?” Scorpius asked.

“I’m giving this girl 50 pounds, and making an investment.” Albus said.   
Scorpius knelt down next to the girl. “Please, please tell me you’re not part of a begging ring.”   
“A what?” The girl blinked rapidly, looking from him to Albus.   
“This is not ‘Slumdog Millionaire’.” Albus snarked.

“Begging rings are real, Albus.” Scorpius huffed. “And they are not confined to India. Miss, no one is forcing you to hand over that money, correct?”   
“No?” The girl said, still utterly mystified.   
Scorpius relaxed, and nodded. “Do you need help getting to a shelter?”

The girl looked at Albus. “Who is he?”   
“A do-gooder.” Albus sighed. “Just… let him fuss, it’s what he does. Scorpius, let’s go.”   
“What happened to letting me fuss?” Scorpius asked.   
“She can. I can’t, we’re on a schedule.” Albus replied. “Also, I know for a fact you’ll just try to give her all of your money and we need it for the cab. All I have left are a few pound coins.”

Scorpius sighed and stood up. “Alright, then. Let’s go.” On the way back to the car, he took Albus’ hand. “I’m proud of you, Albus. Going to give homeless people money is very caring—”   
“It’s not meant to be caring. It’s meant to set up a network of homeless people feeding me information throughout the city.” Albus interrupted. “Driver, Hickman Gallery please. Anyway, Scorpius, I can’t be everywhere at once, and we need to find Greyback as quickly as possible. Do you remember anything about him?”

“I was six years old, and he seemed like a giant. He looked like some sort of huge hulking _creature_ , standing in the dark with the light reflecting off of his eyes. I had nightmares about him for weeks, which is justified. He has had a habit of killing children.” Scorpius noted.   
“Yes, yes, but _helpful_ information.” Albus gestured vaguely.  
“He’s an incredibly tall man, solidly built, with light skin and dark hair. He has very pale brown eyes, nearly yellow, and generally seems to carry himself more like a skulking creature of darkness than a man. All of this was 22 years ago, and has likely been distorted by my own fears of this man and my memory. Is that better?” Scorpius asked, mildly sarcastic.

“Much, thank you.” Albus said, typing something into his phone. “Do you want to go stare at the painting, or do you want to go to the security guard’s home?”   
“Has Diggory already identified him?” Scorpius asked in surprise.   
Albus nodded. “Alex Woodbridge. The address is on the East-End—do you want the museum or the flat?”

“I’ll take the flat, I suspect that you have something clever to do at the Gallery.”   
“Also, I need you to pay the cabbie.” Albus grinned.   
Scorpius sighed. “That too.” After dropping Albus off, and getting the address from Diggory, Scorpius set off.

The flat was small, and unkempt. The other flat holder, a woman named Julia, kept wiping her eyes. “Alex, dead?”   
“Unfortunately.” Scorpius grimaced. “I work with the police—” technically not a lie, “—may I see his room?”   
“Go ahead.” Julia wiped her eyes again and led him to the back of the flat. She opened the door to a messy room, even for what seemed to be an already messy flat, with clothes strewn about everywhere.

Scorpius’ eyes lit up though, because he saw the myriad of astronomy equipment and references everywhere. “He was interested in astronomy? I love--! I mean… ahem… did he have any other hobbies?”   
Julia gave him a watery smile. “It’s alright, he would have been excited to meet someone who loved the stars as much as him. The only person he got to talk to about them was Professor Cairns. He didn’t really care for anything as much as he cared about the stars—it was all just background for him.”

“Well, I don’t know if I’m _that_ devoted—I still love the place I would launch from.” Scorpius smiled. “But Professor Cairns? He didn’t have any other friends…?”   
“Oh, sure he had friends, but they’re more… convenient. You know, when you’re friends with someone mostly because they’re a friend of a friend, or you’ve known them a really long time, but you don’t have anything in common? But you won’t tell them to bugger off, because then you wouldn’t be able to say you have any friends?”

“No, but I have _been_ that friend.” Scorpius said, gently smiling to show her that he didn’t mind. “I’m probably that friend right now to a number of people.”   
Julia gave him a wary glance. “…right. Anyway, you’re with the police, right? We had a break-in last night, but they didn’t take anything.”   
“That’s around the time that Alex died.” Scorpius closed his eyes in thought, before opening them and saying, “Madam, are you _sure_ nothing was taken? Possibly any notes Alex had made about work?”

“He doesn’t have any notes.” Julia shrugged. “It’s just a job.”   
“Of course… is there anything else that I should know?”   
“Professor Cairns left a message on the landline.” Julia shrugged. “I deleted it, but she basically said that Alex was right about something and to call her back.”

Scorpius nodded solemnly. “Let me text my… colleague the details, and I’ll be on my way. Thank you for inviting me in, Madam. Please, stay safe, and I’m sorry for your loss.”   
“We weren’t together.” Julia said, staring at him in a way that made him slightly uncomfortable.   
“Still, the loss of a friend can be quite rough. Take care.” Scorpius said, before leaving. He texted Albus from outside, then opened another text from Orpheus.

‘Where is your boyfriend, and why is he not working on a matter of NATIONAL SECURITY?’   
Scorpius sighed and decided to go check on the situation, just to get Orpheus to let up for a bit.

Meanwhile, at the gallery, Albus was admiring the painting. The original had been lost centuries ago, so he had no point of reference, but everything seemed to check out. It didn’t seem like acrylic paint or anything, but then again, Hyde wouldn’t make this easy for him. Hyde wanted to enjoy this. They were probably upset that he had solved it quickly before. Or, well, Scorpius and Rose had. Sort of.

“What are you doing?” A new voice demanded. Albus jumped.   
“Get back to work!” The voice hissed. “I do not pay you to loaf about!”   
Albus turned to see the gallery owner, a tall, thin woman. Then he looked down at his ‘disguise’, a uniform he’d swiped from the break room. “This isn’t even that good of a disguise. You _really_ think I work here? That’s a bit sad.”

“If you don’t work here, what are you doing?” She demanded. “Come to the show, like everyone else. We open tomorrow night.”   
Albus cocked his head. “Well, I wanted to see it before it was revealed to be a fake. No point in going to the show if the centerpiece isn’t there, and I assume they’ll bundle it off somewhere. Pity, it’s lovely.”

The woman paled, before barking, “It is _real_! I have had it checked by many eminent art historians!”   
“Yes. But it’s a fake.” Albus smiled. “It has to be.”   
“How is it a fake then?” She demanded.   
“That’s what I’m here to find out.” Albus said, before walking towards her and leaning in. “Did you hire Greyback to take out the security guard? Protecting your assets?”

“ _What_? Who’s Greyback?”   
“Eastern European contract killer, unimportant right now. Or, are you just the middle man? Have you been as misled as the rest of London?” Albus flicked his gaze over her, from the way that she wore her dress to how immaculate her hair and makeup were to the brand of her shoes.   
“No one’s been misled. It’s _not_ a fake.” She hissed.

Albus nodded slowly. “I’ll remember that you said that. You’re wrong, of course, or I wouldn’t be here, but I digress.”   
His phone—his real cellphone, not the pink monstrosity that Hyde had given him—pinged. He smiled. “Well, that’ll be my companion. I need to get going. …d’you want your security outfit back, or may I keep it?”   
The gallery owner held out her hand expectantly, and Albus handed over the cap and shirt.

At the home of the unfortunate man who had been found with his head caved in on a train track and missile defense plans out of his pocket, Scorpius sipped weak tea and waited for this woman to also stop crying. He had a strong suspicion that Albus had known they’d do this. No wonder he’d gotten the job pawned off on him.

“Westie wasn’t a traitor.” The fiancée said firmly through her tears. “It’s rotten, what they all think. He wasn’t going to sell those plans.”   
“Then why take them out of a highly secure facility?” Scorpius asked.   
Lucy, the fiancée, bit her lip. “I don’t know. Maybe he needed to work on them at home. I’ve been asking him not to stay so late.”   
Scorpius put down the mug on the coffee table. “Madam, you must understand. I’m not here to malign your lover’s character and convince you that he was a scoundrel. But I need more—I need a concrete reason for why he’d put these plans in such danger. Was he acting suspicious in any way when you last saw him?”

“He was quiet when I put on a film. Usually he falls asleep.” Lucy looked teary again. Scorpius quickly dug out an old pack of Kleenex from his pocket and handed it over. Thank God he never cleaned out his coat pockets.   
“He said he had to go and meet someone. Didn’t say who, before you ask. He looked… worried. I assumed it was his boss.” Lucy blew her nose.   
Scorpius nodded solemnly.

The door banged open. “Luce? I got you some tea?”   
“Joe, my brother.” Lucy explained to Scorpius, before calling, “In here, Joe!”   
Joe walked in to see Scorpius and Lucy. “Luce—who are you?”   
Scorpius stood and extended his hand. “Dr. Scorpius Malfoy. I work with the police.”

Joe shook it warily. “It’s ridiculous, this. Someone should have been here by now.”   
“They really should have.” Scorpius agreed. “Someone professional. I don’t know what Scotland Yard’s up to, but I imagine it’s too high above their paygrade for them. Spies can’t do it either, the higher-ups say they all spy on people for money, so of course they’re not reliable.”

Joe looked a bit pale. “So this thing with Westie… it’s that serious?”   
“Oh, of course.” Scorpius nodded. “This is a highly confidential matter of national security. Millions of lives are at stake.”   
Joe continued to look pale. “Right, right, of course.”

Scorpius smiled at him. “But don’t worry, we’re on the case. We’re going to get our man.”   
“I would hope so.” Joe said.   
Scorpius gave a small wave to Lucy. “Goodbye, and you truly have my condolences. Thank you for talking to me tonight.”   
“Thank you for coming.” She replied. “And thank you for finding who killed my good man.”   
“Don’t thank me yet.” Scorpius said. “Thank my partner when he finds the killer—I’m just the middle man.”  

Scorpius got a reply from Albus as he left. Instead of returning to 221B, he met Albus at Vauxhall Arches.   
“Why are we here?” He asked as soon as he got out of the cab. Albus was skulking in the shadows, but it was still so obviously him that Scorpius found the idea of being afraid laughable.   
“Not so loud!” Albus hissed. “Homeless network’s seen Greyback around here.”   
“I see. What’s our plan for taking down a known, not to mention professional killer, who could snap up both in half like pretzels?” Scorpius whispered.

“You really need to work through your childhood, he’s probably old as dust right now. He can’t kill _both_ of us.”   
“I assure you, he can.” Scorpius said drily. “I’m just glad I brought the gun.”   
“Then we’ll have to be careful.” Albus said, activating the torch on his phone. Then he turned and looked at Scorpius. “Do you bring that everywhere with you?”

“Since moving in with you? Yes.”   
“Fair.”   
They proceeded quietly through the rows of homeless people, many of whom were asleep. Suddenly, a shadow loomed around the corner. It grew as the man stood, even though Albus and Scorpius had stopped.

“Greyback.” Scorpius whispered. “Douse the light!”   
Albus did as he was told, and they followed Greyback. He stepped outside the arches, and sniffed the air. Then he looked straight at Albus and Scorpius, and grinned wickedly. He got into a waiting car, and sped away.   
“We’ll never find him again.” Albus growled.   
“Do we really need to?” Scorpius asked. “What would it achieve?”

“He might know why it’s a fake.”   
“…I think you’re giving Greyback too much credit, but he’s on his way somewhere. If I had to guess, I’d say he’s gone to get Professor Cairns.” Scorpius shrugged.   
Albus nodded. “Good thinking. Taxi!”   
“By the way, why was he staying here?” Scorpius asked as they got in a taxi, pulling up Professor Cairns on his phone.

“Where to?” The cabbie asked.   
“Um… the planetarium.” Scorpius said, before looking at Albus.

“People don’t talk as much, he needs to lie low.” Albus replied.   
Scorpius frowned. “…he could lie low in a hotel.”   
Albus shrugged. “People ask questions when you come in looking like the most murderous of vagabonds.”   
“I mean, that’s not just what he looks like.” Scorpius pointed out. “He murders people and sleeps under bridges.”

Albus shrugged. When they reached the planetarium, they dashed out of the car.   
Greyback was strangling a woman, presumably professor Cairns. Her fingers were on the sound board, speeding up and slowing down the presentation as she struggled.

Scorpius fired his gun into the air.   
Greyback snapped Cairns’ neck. The theater was plunged into darkness.  
“Who are you working for?” Albus demanded as he stepped onto the stage.   
Scorpius headed up to the mixing booth. Greyback appeared behind Albus. Thick hands wrapped around his neck. Albus clawed at the air, at Greyback, at—

“Let. Him. Go.”   
The pressure eased slightly. Albus gasped for air.   
“I remember you.” Greyback suddenly spoke. “The Malfoy brat. Annoyed she’s cutting in your territory? Want to kill itty bitty Potter yourself?”   
Another shot rang out. Greyback howled in pain, and Albus used the opportunity to scramble away from Greyback.

“I told you to let him go.” Scorpius’ voice was low.   
The narrator from the show suddenly came back online as stars splashed across the three of them. “Scorpius, the Scorpion constellation, was identified by Ptolemy in the second century, but predates Greek culture. In mythology, the scorpion killed Orion the hunter. Scorpius contains many bright stars, but also several deep-sky objects, including global cluster _Messier 80_ , discovered in 1781 by Charles Messier. In 1860, it was the site of a rare discovery—the nova _T Scorpii_.”

Whatever Greyback had said during that was lost on Albus.   
“Who hired you?” Scorpius asked.   
“What, like I’m going to tell _you_?” Greyback growled. “No. I have to say though—you’re just like Lucius.”   
Scorpius flinched, and Greyback barked a laugh.

Albus shakily stood. “Scorpius is a good man.”   
Greyback flashed his teeth in what he clearly thought was a smile. “You should have killed me. You both know it. Lucius—no, who was it…? Adalicia Reller would have done it.”   
“Who hired you?” Scorpius repeated.   
Greyback shook his head. “Shoot me.”   
“Greyback, I’m not _fucking around_.” Scorpius hissed.

Greyback shrugged. “Shoot me. Do it, or I’ll come back and kill your little friend. You may be the spitting image of both Lucius and his idiot son, but _he_ _’_ _s_ the spitting image of Harry fucking Potter. I’ve always wanted to let that arse know what happens once you kill a man like Riddle.”

Scorpius holstered his gun. “You can try. I’ll take your other knee if you do. Run along and spread the word—come for Albus Severus Potter, and I’ll come for you.”   
“I can’t do much _fucking_ running, can I?” Greyback snarled. “You ruined my knee!”   
Scorpius shrugged. Then he turned to Albus. “Are you okay?”

“Not the first time someone’s tried to strangle me.” Albus said hoarsely.   
“Let’s go.” Scorpius said softly.   
“Nngh… my Prince Charming?” Albus tried to smirk. “What about Greyback?”   
“He’s not going anywhere, and he’s not telling us anything.” Scorpius pulled Albus arm around his shoulders, and did the same for him. “Come on, let’s go. I think we should take you to hospital.”

“I’ve already got a doctor, I don’t need more.” Albus rasped.   
“I’m pretty sure that you do, actually.” Scorpius smiled slightly. “But I digress, let’s just get in the cab so I can call 999 for Greyback.”   
“For?” Albus squinted at him.   
“The police, mostly.” Scorpius amended.

Albus was kept overnight at the hospital, and Greyback was taken into custody. Albus and Scorpius snuck out of the hospital the first thing in the morning and headed over to the art gallery. Diggory—and the gallery owner, who Diggory had ordered to do this—were waiting there.

Albus stared at the painting. “There must be _something_.”   
“I’m telling you, it’s _real_.” The gallery owner hissed. “How many times do I have to say it? It’s been subjected to every test known to mankind!”   
“Albus, look at me. Alex Woodbridge and Professor Cairns had an interest in astronomy. That’s _not_ a coincidence.” Scorpius said. “Something’s wrong with that sky.”

“Detective Inspector, can you _please_ —” The gallery owner was cut off by the call from the pink cellphone.   
“I know it’s a fake, I know it’s an error in the sky, just give me _time_!” Albus said into the receiver, before setting it to speaker.   
“Ten…” A young child said hesitantly.

Cedric closed his eyes.   
“Nine…” The child continued.   
Scorpius’ eyes lit up. He took the phone from Albus’ hand.

“What are you doing?” Albus demanded.   
“The _Messier 80_ global cluster is visible.” Scorpius said in a low voice. “It was discovered in 1781, the painting was supposedly painted in 1643.”   
The child was silent for a minute, before he said, “You’re not Albus Potter.”   
“No, I’m not.”

“It’s supposed to be Potter. I like _playing_ with Potter.”   
“Albus and I work better together, I promise you. Better games, better fun, better everything. I know things he doesn’t… but I suspect you know that, given the placement of _Messier 80_.”   
“I’m not responsible for the painting, Dr. Malfoy. I just brought Greyback to England. But that’s an odd coincidence, isn’t it? …she’s giggling but I can’t.”

“It’s alright, you don’t have to laugh right now.” Albus said softly. “I’m sorry I didn’t know.”   
“…she’s arguing with someone.” The child whispered. “She said I can go free. Can you please come and get me? I don’t know my mummy’s phone number.”   
“How old are you?” Scorpius asked softly.   
“5 and a half.” The child answered dutifully.

Cedric almost covered his mouth, then handcuffed the gallery owner instead. She let him. She seemed as haunted by the fact that a child had nearly died as a consequence of this sorry mess as everyone else.

“Where are you?” Albus asked.   
“I’m at school. She locked me in the library, and it’s meant to be closed for renovations. No one comes over here.”   
“What’s your name?”   
“Jimmy.”

“Your full name.” Scorpius prompted. “Or your school’s full name.”   
Soon enough, they had enough details for them to find someone in Jimmy’s area and direct them to the library. Diggory carted the gallery owner away for questioning, after promising to send any relevant information.

Albus took Scorpius’ hands in his. “So, the fourth one came and passed. And nothing happened.”   
“Maybe we did something wrong?” Scorpius said.   
“Jekyll and Hyde would have detonated if we had.” Albus said firmly.   
Scorpius shrugged. “Well, sometimes in real life, that’s just how it goes. That being said, if this were a video game, we would have to go back through all of that and get the true ending by collecting something or going on a side quest.”

“Is that a roundabout way of saying that you want me to go look at the accident your brother keeps asking about?” Albus sighed.   
Scorpius nodded and smiled.   
Albus thought for a minute, then nodded as well.

Soon, they were walking along the train tracks in wearing reflective coats over their regular ones. One of the train-yard workers was accompanying them, explaining about West. “We found him right here.”   
Scorpius squinted at it. “You… cleaned the tracks?”   
“Nah, not enough blood for that.” The man replied. “Odd, a friend of mine had a jumper—splattered everywhere. He still has nightmares about it.”

“That sounds traumatizing indeed.” Albus said smoothly. “We’ll take it from here.”   
“You’re police?” The train-yard worker asked suspiciously.   
Albus produced one of Diggory’s stolen badges from his coat, flashed it, and put it back. “I trust that should suffice…?”   
“Oh, sure.” The train-yard man, now satisfied, went about his business.

Scorpius turned to Albus. “So, we both know that Westie was moved here.”   
Albus smiled. “You’re getting it now.”   
“Did you already solve it?” Scorpius asked, aghast.   
Albus shrugged. “Bits and pieces. Could probably name the culprit already.”

“…did you bug my phone?” Scorpius asked warily.   
“No. I did not.” Albus shrugged. “Your brother did, I just hacked into it and got the information from the time you were at the West household. Impressive intimidation of Lucy’s brother, by the way.”   
“He did _what_?” Scorpius demanded. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I thought you knew that Orpheus was overbearing and overprotective…? After all, hasn’t this whole case been sort of a test for me?” Albus asked.   
Scorpius clicked his tongue. “…kind of? He also needed it done by someone he trusted. However, in terms of _testing_ you, Orpheus is more straightforward. He will sit you down and ask you about your intentions. Likely after chaining you to the table.”   
Albus smiled briefly. “I’d like to see him try.”

“ _Anyway_ , back to the case at hand.” Scorpius said.   
“Oh, yes. The missile plans aren’t out of the country yet—I know what I said, but I was wrong—because Orpheus would have heard and our brothers would have come for us. But you really have no idea who did it? Even from the audio file I could tell he was nervous.”   
Scorpius sighed and passed a hand over his eyes. “The brother really…?”   
Albus nodded. “Really.”   
“Jesus.”

“Phone, please?”   
Scorpius obediently handed over his cellphone. Albus flipped it over, then said, “For the record, I would _never_ murder a prospective brother-in-law for state secrets. Just a note.”   
Then he handed it back to Scorpius.   
“Did I pass?” Albus asked.

Scorpius grimaced. “Let’s just go confront Lucy’s brother.”   
After returning their reflective vests (though Scorpius seriously considered buying his, anything that kept them safe was useful in their line of work) and hailing yet another cab, they proceeded to the address. Scorpius did not ask how Albus knew where the brother lived, but he was going to guess Google and more government resources. Albus also turned out to be an excellent lock pick.

“So wait, we’re just going to… break in?” Scorpius asked, watching the street nervously.   
“Mm-hmm. We’re going to sit there and wait for him, it’s going to be excellent.” Albus said, pulling the pin away and turning the knob.   
“Dramatic.” Scorpius commented.

They sat down in the living room and waited. Roughly ten minutes later, Joe walked in.   
He stopped upon seeing them. “Who are you? What are you doing here?”   
Scorpius stood. “Hello Joe. Do you remember me?”   
“The policeman from Lucy’s house?” Joe asked.   
Scorpius nodded. “In a fashion. I explained to you, it’s a bit too sophisticated for them.”   
“How did you get into my house?” Joe demanded.

 “Unimportant.” Albus cut in. “Why did you do it, Joe?”   
“Excuse me?” Joe asked.   
“You heard me. Lying is futile, we all know it. Why?”   
Joe looked at the ground. “I started selling drugs to cover some debts. At Westie’s stag do, he got drunk, started talking about the plans. I figured, those are valuable, right? I could pay everything off.”

“So you bashed his head in?” Albus asked.   
“Later. I took the plans off him that night, I thought he wouldn’t notice. He came to me a few days later and demanded it back—said he knew I did it. We scuffled, he slipped and fell on the stairs… he was dead so fast…” Joe covered his face with his hands. Albus stood. “So you had a plan, did you? Dragged him down to the tracks? Pretended he’d jumped?”

“Wouldn’t you jump, if you were trusted with those plans and lost them?” Joe said weakly.   
Albus held out his hand expectantly. Joe sighed, and pulled the flashdrive out of his pocket.   
“Kept it on you?” Albus asked, pocketing himself.   
“Too important not to.” Joe replied, before looking at Albus shrewdly. “Does this mean I won’t go to jail?”

Albus grinned, showing off his teeth. “ _That_ is up to your lawyer. Unlawful Act Manslaughter, I should think you’ll get 1/3 of your planned time shaven off if you plead guilty.”   
“But what about the treason?”   
“Mm… better not mention that.” Albus strode out of the flat. Scorpius shrugged and followed him.   
Albus waited for him on the steps, and they walked along the street together. “So… the true ending…”

“Orpheus isn’t Hyde.” Scorpius grimaced. “James’d be very upset if his boyfriend was stalking you.”   
“And what would you do if it was Orpheus?” Albus asked.   
Scorpius frowned. “Kick his arse for doing all this.”   
Albus smiled. “Well, luckily, I don’t think it is. Both Hyde and Jekyll have been referred to with female pronouns.”

“That’s good—Orpheus is responsible for our renovations, and apparently they’re done.” Scorpius linked arms with Albus. “Shall we?”   
Later, they were leaning against each other on the couch, watching an old re-run of the medieval murder mystery program, ‘Cadfael’.

“Simon the squire is incredibly shady.” Albus commented.   
“He is.” Scorpius agreed. “But I can’t tell if the other one is malevolent or just stupid.”   
“Well, they’re all a bit stupid. It should be obvious that it would be advantageous for Simon to marry Iveta and that he has a clear motive for murder. Yet Beringar is chasing the other idiot all over the forest. Leave your stupid, bright purple cloak, idiot!” Albus huffed.   
“No wonder Huon de Domville was so crabby if all he employed were idiots, traitors, and men who wanted to seduce his intended.” Scorpius added. “Do you want to stop watching?”

“…no. Cadfael isn’t as stupid as those shows where people are psychic or something.” Albus muttered. “He has a logical thought process, I can respect that.”

Scorpius kissed him. “Mm… I’m hungry. Stay here and keep watching, I’m glad you’ve found a show you like. I’ll go get some fish and chips.”   
“Go get some real food from Pryansh.” Albus said. “He’ll wrap it up for you if you ask.”   
“Alright.” Scorpius said. “I’ll be back soon, okay? Then we can probably stream in on the computer while we eat.”

“Sounds like a plan.” Albus said, smiling. As soon as Scorpius had shut the door, he reached for his computer and opened up his blog.   
‘Found: Missile Defense Plans. If yours, please meet me at The Pool, at midnight.’ Then he settled in to watch the end of the episode.

Some time later, he entered The Pool—the charmingly and originally named swimming complex a few streets away from Baker Street, and the opposite direction of Northumberland Street. No one was in the lobby, but the door do the main pool was slightly ajar.   
Albus rolled his eyes, and opened the door. “This is what it’s all led up to, isn’t—”

His heart nearly stopped. At the other end of the pool, Holly Longbottom was holding a gun to Scorpius’ neck. Scorpius was straining away from her, blankly staring at the wall. His posture was tense and it looked like his muscles had locked up.   
Holly kept her eyes on Albus.

“Evening, Albus. This is quite a turn up, isn’t it?” Holly said.   
Albus took a step forward. “Let. Him. Go.”   
Holly cocked her head. “That’s what he said to Greyback, isn’t it? Impressive, that. But sure, I have a sniper trained on both of you from the upper deck anyway.”

She suddenly removed the gun from Scorpius’ neck and put it in her waistband. He slowly turned to look at her, then at Albus. He didn’t seem to want to talk, instead he moved quickly but unsurely to Albus, pulling him into a crushing hug. Albus could feel Scorpius trembling, and wondered if he was holding back a breakdown until they were safe. He wanted to kill Holly freaking Longbottom.

Scorpius took Albus’ hand after pulling away from the hug, and they faced Holly together.   
“So, you’re Hyde.” Albus spat.   
Holly sighed. “Jekyll, actually. Don’t fret, I wasn’t using Rose. I do genuinely like her.”   
“You’re a psychopath, I don’t want you near my cousin!”   
“Bit too late for that.” Holly noted.

“Why are you doing this?” Albus demanded.   
Holly ran a hand through her hair. “I’m not in human resources. Well, I am now, but that’s a recent development. Hyde and I are counterparts to your job. We _create_ problems that ordinary people can’t solve. We’re… how did Hyde put it? We’re _consulting criminals_.”   
“So you do things like hire Greyback for the gallery, and help people like Raoul get their hands on that much poison.” Albus said, before squinting at Holly. “How _did_ you get that much _clostridium botulinum_?”   
“Fish, mostly.” Holly shrugged. “A bit of soil. Locally sourced.”

“It isn’t the time to care about the environment when you’re murdering someone.” Albus growled.   
“Not the point.” Holly said. “The point is, that Hyde and I aren’t meant to be out in the open like this. No one’s supposed to get to us.”   
Albus finally smirked. “I did.”   
Holly rolled her eyes. “Don’t flatter yourself. You just got close. You still don’t know anything about Hyde, and we had to spoon feed you as it is. Why do you think that there were skin cells on the shoes of a boy who meticulously wore socks? That there was _anything_ left on Alex Woodbridge’s body?”

“Scorpius told me you were setting me up.” Albus said, squeezing said man’s hand. Scorpius squeezed back, but was still largely unresponsive.   
“Sometimes I think he’s smarter than you.” Holly said, before narrowing her eyes. “But then again, that stunt he pulled with Hyde was very, very stupid. He’s lucky I was on hand to make sure she didn’t try to blow Jimmy up. Contrary to what you must think, I’m not as violent as Hyde. I had no intention of killing either Doris or Mavis, the first one.”

“This isn’t about you.” Albus growled.   
“I think it is.” Holly replied. “It’s been about me and Hyde since Rowle.”   
“People died!”   
“As if they would have lived otherwise!” Holly suddenly snarled. “As if you weren’t completely correct that Rowle was taking poison! As if it wasn’t Rose and your doctor or the General! She’s just lucky she died before I found out that she took Rose— _my_ Rose—as her hostage!”

She smoothed her composure again.   
“I’ll stop you. Both you and Hyde.” Albus said softly, somewhat shocked by her change in demeanor.   
Holly sighed and pinched the bridge of her nose. “No. You won’t. Better men than you have tried. Do you want to know why I’m here tonight?”   
“For the missile plans?” Albus asked, digging the flashdrive out of his coat pocket with his free hand.

“Give it here.” Holly ordered.   
Albus slid it across the floor. Holly stopped the flashdrive with her foot, picked it up, and then threw it into the pool as hard as she could. Scorpius squeezed Albus’ hand with the splash.   
“I’m here to tell you that you need to _back off_.” Holly continued. “Before someone—likely Scorpius—gets hurt.”

“Those were a matter of national security!” Albus protested. “Don’t just throw them in the pool like a child’s toy!”   
“And we could have gotten them _anywhere_.” Holly said. “That’s what you’re up against, Potter.”   
Albus’ glare hardened. “And what if we don’t back off?”   
Holly closed her eyes. “Then we’ll burn the heart out of you. I told you, Scorpius is likely the one to get hurt. He’s in too deep as it is, he’s _really_ lucky Hyde considers him part of the experience, or she would have killed him already.”

Albus froze. “You’ll kill…?”   
Holly shook her head. “No. No, Hyde won’t kill him. He’ll end up killing himself. She’ll just make him wish that he was dead. Exacerbate his PTSD to the point of a full-on breakdown, probably. None of us want to see that happen, so please just let sleeping dogs lie.”   
“And if I kill you, right now?” Albus asked.   
“You won’t.” Holly replied nonchalantly. “I’m the only thing holding Hyde back, and that’s really only because Rose would be incredibly sad if you died. But let’s say you did. I still have that sniper up there. How do you think you’d walk out of here? Because it won’t be the two of you, hand in hand. I promise that.”

Albus’ fingers clenched around Scorpius’ in a vice-like grip. She was _not_ taking him away.   
Holly checked her watch. “Well, I’d best be off. Rose is expecting me back soon. Goodbye, Potter. Hopefully, this will be our last meeting outside of family affairs.”   
She turned and walked away. As soon as she was gone, Scorpius let out a choking sob and crumpled to the ground.

“I’m such an _idiot_ , I’m so sorry.” He sobbed. The apologizing went on for a few more minutes.   
Albus was unsure of what to do. “Shh, sh… I want to help, how do I help?”   
Scorpius took Albus’ hands in his, and began muttering. “I see Albus, the pool, the walls of the pool area, the lights, and the tiling pattern. I feel Albus’ hands, I feel my weight on my legs, I feel the cold of the tile against my back, and the way my hair falls on my neck. I hear the pool filter, Albus’ breathing, and my breathing. I smell Albus’ bodywash and the pool chlorine. I taste the popcorn we shared from watching Cadfael.”

“Calming technique?” Albus asked.   
Scorpius nodded. “My therapist recommended it. Puts me back in the moment. …again, sorry. Guns against my neck are one of my triggers.”   
“You don’t have to apologize, I’m just glad that—”

Albus was interrupted as the far door Holly had just exited swung open again. Someone who looked exactly like Holly, now grinning fervently with slightly more disheveled hair, nearly danced into the room.   
“Sorry, boys. I’m _so_ changeable!” She said in a sing-song voice.   
Red dots, indicating snipers, began to appear over Scorpius and Albus.

“What the fuck.” Scorpius said softly.   
‘Holly’ giggled. “Now, that’s quite naughty language, Dr. Malfoy!”   
“I think it encapsulates the mood.” Albus said.   
‘Holly’ pouted. “Well, it looks like we won’t have so long to play together, after all! Such a shame, but I really can’t have you both running around after that stunt you pulled with Jimmy. This wasn’t your game, Dr. Malfoy.”

“What about Rose?” Albus demanded.   
“What about her?” ‘Holly’ grinned manically. “I’m sure she’ll understand.”   
Scorpius squinted at ‘Holly’. “Jekyll and Hyde are meant to be the same person.”   
‘Holly’ flinched as if struck. “We _are_ the same person. Down to our genetics.”   
“Of course you are.” Scorpius sighed.

The woman’s grin turned nasty. “Oh, you’re a clever one, aren’t you? Well, I’m sorry Dr. Malfoy, but you’re just not clever _enough_ for my tastes. You both have to go.”   
Albus pulled the gun out of Scorpius’ coat. “If we have to go, you’re going with us.”   
‘Holly’ laughed, high and clear like a bell. “So be it.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I got the entirety of the planetarium information about the Scorpius constellation from Wikipedia. 
> 
> I finally got around to giving everyone ages. Scorpius and Albus are 28. Holly and ‘Holly’ are 27, their birthday is December 25th. As such, they’re both named after the same Christmas carol. It’s not particularly well known. That being said, do you know who ‘Holly’ is? (Besides Hyde, she’s obviously Hyde.) I’ll give you a hint; “it’s never twins” could have been a tidy bit of foreshadowing if Moffat had applied it correctly.
> 
> Speaking of Hyde, Scorpius mentioned that he could have had a life of crime at the beginning of the chapter. That’s basically the Scorpion King. Two things; 1) as I imagine him, the Scorpion King is as practical as Holly/Jekyll, but can get a bit… like Hyde… when it comes to Albus. 2) The Rellers that Scorpius mentioned are OCs, they’re his mother’s mother’s side of the family. They have shady business practices and are tied to the mafia. The Zabinis are not OCs—well, okay, yeah, most of them are. They are known poisoners, but no one has been able to prove anything. 
> 
> If you have as much feelings as I do about the end of this particular story, come yell at me at @notherefortheanonhate on tumblr, or comment. Either one would be great, honestly.


End file.
